Well, It's Just A Theory
by PlotPoints
Summary: Alan had just four things to his name. One, a beat-up old sedan. Two, a wallet with his last fifty dollars. Three, a recent doctoral degree in theoretical high-energy particle physics. Four, an opportunity in Beach City to research something fantastic.
1. A Morning Drive

Alan had just four things to his name.

One, a beat-up old sedan. The item in question bounced through a pothole with a worrisome groan, making Alan wonder how much longer his loyal steed would agree to carry him. Two, a wallet with his last fifty dollars. Alan took a hand off the wheel to make sure item two was still safe and snug in his back pocket. He was never really sure whether to count item two as a single item or as fifty-one additional items to his name, but he wasn't one to inflate his own worth. Three, a recent doctoral degree in theoretical high-energy particle physics. He couldn't quite pat his pants and make sure _that_ was still with him, but he was pretty sure it was still his. He had only gotten it last month.

Which leads us to item four. Now, Alan hadn't quite reconciled with himself whether item four truly deserved to be an 'item to his name.' Indeed, the criteria for granting such designations were nebulous enough to Alan _without_ edge cases like item four complicating the matter with undue precedent.

Alan sighed. Debating the matter with himself- again- would probably be annoying. He reached for the car radio, but was met with the predictably random hiss of static that comes with having a mode of transportation as faulty as item one.

Alan sighed louder. Debating the matter with himself- again- was currently his only form of entertainment. Item four held a considerable amount of influence over him; it was the reason he was now traveling an empty stretch of coastline highway in the wee hours of the morning with nothing but items one, two, and three. It was also a matter of consequence for his aspirations as a researcher. Many of his colleagues were content to leave Delmarva University in pursuit of minor contributions to the field of particle physics; redundant validations of previously tested theories or incremental additions to existing bodies of work. Bah!

Alan was searching for something much grander. If left to his colleagues, humanity's collective knowledge would crawl along at a snail's pace, unable to manage a single breakthrough at a rate faster than once in a lifetime. He was certain that the key to progress was not in taking timid steps towards the unknown, but in jumping headlong into it with little more than a vision of where you were landing and... something like item three to ground yourself.

That is what drew Alan's attention to a certain sleepy little town by the seaside. It was at least an hour's drive from any other form of civilization, and it was little more than a collection of shops and small houses by a pier. However, everyone in Delmarva knew about it. Growing up in the area, you always heard about the 'odd things' happening in Beach City; strange sightings and reports of anomalous activity and leaked images of preposterously large figures in the sky. But that's all they ever were to anyone. _O__dd things_. Things you give a short 'huh' to after hearing about them third-hand from your neighbor. Things that pass into your head for validation but are hastily rejected as 'unlikely' or 'impossible.'

However, in every strange sighting, in every report of anomalous activity, in every leaked image of preposterously large figures in the sky, Alan got a brief glimpse into the fantastic domain of the unknown. And he knew that _somewhere_ there was firm footing for him to land.

Nodding to himself in approval, the young physicist re-affirmed his stance. Alan had just four things to his name. One, a beat-up old sedan. Two, a wallet with his last fifty dollars. Three, a recent doctoral degree in theoretical high-energy particle physics. Four, an opportunity in Beach City to research something _fantastic_.


	2. It's A Wash

Every expedition into a new frontier had a base of operations. How would astronauts have gotten to the moon without ground control at Kennedy Space Center guiding the Apollo? Where would Lewis and Clarke be without forts Mandan and Clatsop to bear the winters in? Alan was sure his exploration lay grounded somewhere in the town. He just had to find the right spot to nest.

If the rumors of this place were true, a world of discoveries was just _waiting_ to be grasped. But first, Alan needed a place to stay. And for that, he needed more than fifty dollars.

Driving slowly through Beach City, Alan kept his eyes peeled for anything resembling an easy job. It was hard to imagine anything odd happening to anyone in the sleepy little town. The sun had just peeked over the lip of the horizon, and in the dim morning glow the townsfolk were beginning their days. Two teens were opening up a donut shop and getting ready for the morning rush. Or, more accurately, one teen was getting ready while the other was listening to music and flailing his long limbs around in what appeared to be some sort of dance.

_Donuts? That sounds like far too much of an early-morning affair. And I absolutely _cannot_ do mornings. Except for, you know... the morning I'm currently in._

A father and his two sons were manning a boardwalk fry stand. One of the boys was very diligently performing maintenance on a fryer, pulling at pipes through an access panel with a determined look on his face, while the other was tapping hurriedly on his smart-phone and muttering excitedly to himself.

_Ugh, all that grease! Certainly there's a way to earn my keep here without getting so... greasy. And is it a coincidence that their hair looks like fries?_

A mother was chasing her son around the pier, both giggling uncontrollably to themselves at their little game of tag. Alan couldn't help but stare as he drove by.

_What's with the hair in this town? Hers was so... big. And square. And who wears shades like that anymore?_

All of the people in the town were regular, peaceful, work-a-day folk. And it got Alan doubting. Could these people _really _be the source of such rumors and anomalies? Is something new and interesting truly going on here, or is it all just hearsay? And, most importantly, was there _nowhere_ to work that didn't involve getting up early or handling grease?

"Hey man, nice car!"

Alan knew for a fact that he was _not_ in a nice car. Regardless, he rolled down a window to address the speaker. Before him was a middle-aged man, bushy bearded and... bald? Alan took another glance and saw that he did have hair. Tons of it. It was just all on the very back of his head, as if a long wig was hanging off of his ears. His white-tank-top-and-shorts ensemble displayed a very prominent farmer's tan, which reminded Alan of the dangers of over exposure to ultraviolet radiation.

_Note to self: prioritize procuring suntan lotion after all essentials are accounted for._

With an enormous smile on his beard-covered face, the man continued.

"That thing's gotta be older than _you_ are, kid!"

_A logical conclusion_.

"Yes, it is... very old. Thank you."

"It's got a great shine on it! You wash it yourself?"

_Do I what?_

Alan did a double take of his surroundings and found that, according to a very prominent neon elephant sign, he was in front of It's A Wash, the town's glibly named car wash. Below the elephant hung a very easy-to-miss 'help wanted' sign, which piqued Alan's interest.

_Well, as long as help is wanted here..._

"Yes, I do wash it myself. Actually, mister..."

"Greg! Name's Greg." Greg stuck out a large hand, which Alan awkwardly reached out to and shook through the car window. "Not, uh, 'mister' Greg or anything. Just Greg's fine."

"Alan," Alan said in greeting, finally prying his hand from Greg's over-friendly handshake. "Actually, I'm looking for work and-"

"Oh! You saw the sign!"

Greg gestured excitedly at the small sign overshadowed by his elephant's prominent neon figure.

"Well, you're in luck, kid! I'm lookin' for someone to help out at the old car-wash, and judging by the looks of your car you'd probably do a great job!"

_That's what your judgment about my car tells you?_ Alan thought in slight disbelief, knowing full well that 'item one' was not in the best shape. _Ah, but what was that thing people said about gift horses and looking into their mouths..._

"I will certainly perform to the best of my ability," Alan affirmed, causing a huge grin to overtake Greg's face.

"Awesome! You're hired, man! Why don't you park that thing and I'll give you the tour?"

Alan complied, a dull fascination of what 'the tour' could entail emerging despite himself.

"So you from around here, kid? I know I haven't seen you at the 'wash before."

"Oh, I'm from... somewhere else," Alan responded. He and Greg were walking through the mechanisms of the main wash, and Greg found it a good time to pepper him with questions in between explanations of the various brushes and hoses he so painstakingly maintained.

"Like 'West Coast' somewhere else or 'other side of the planet' somewhere else?"

"Ha, oh, um, not so far away mist- uh, Greg. I'm from Delmarva, just not _this_ part of it."

"Oh, somethin' of a local, are ya?" Greg was demonstrating proper car-washing technique with a squeegee on Alan's car, which Alan watched with a practiced look of faux-interest cultivated by years of attendance at University lectures.

"Yes, something of one. Have you always run this establishment by yourself?"

"You know it! This place is my _jam_," Greg responded energetically, sheathing his sponge and squeegee in a nearby bucket and showing Alan into the main office. 'Office' may be an exaggeration; it was more of a several-waiting-chairs-and-desk-with-cash-register room than an office room.

"So why have you decided to start hiring now?" Alan didn't know what compelled him to ask. Surely it would bring no negotiable advantage to the discussion to question Greg's decision to hire him. But a small business owner doesn't go from sole dominion over their store to sharing their professional burden with others without reason.

Perhaps if Alan had never asked, he never would have gotten his first lead. Or perhaps he would have found out sooner or later anyway, Greg being the way he was. But Alan did ask, and this day, his first day in Beach City, Alan did get his first lead.

"Well, I just wanted to spend s'more time with my son, ya know? What will all that crazy _gem_ stuff going on I-"

Greg stopped and took on a nervous look. He tried to think of a good excuse a fast as he could, but the thread was already out, and Alan had caught it faster than he could reel it in.

"W-wait, _what_ stuff?" Alan asked excitedly.

"Ha... haha, oh, you know, it's not really..." Greg nervously put an arm behind his head, scratching his hair as if it would give him the explanation he needed. "It's just... _weird_ stuff always happens in Beach City, you know? I'm sure you've heard about it. That's... all. That's all there is to it. I was talking about the _weird stuff_."

Alan blinked. Confirmation. It was a confirmation! Alan had no idea why Greg had called it 'gem stuff', but he was sure it was some colloquialism he could figure out later. The important part was that Beach City _was_ an anomalous area. It was anomalous enough for people to plan their lives around, to... want to see their sons more about?

Alan blinked again, and the excitement abated. There was nothing to go on yet, just one small part of one conversation. But the thread was there. Alan just needed to tug at it.

"So, by weird stuff, what _exactly_ are you-"

Alan was cut off by a loud honk. A van was idled in front of the car wash with what appeared to be someone's giant smiling head bolted to the roof.

"Oh, hey, that's the mayor!" Greg said, hustling Alan outside. "We better not keep him waiting. C'mon! I'll show you the ropes!"

Alan sighed. _I suppose I'll have to _work_ at work_.

* * *

Alan closed the large, metal overhead door to the main wash. It was the end of the day, but Greg had somehow managed to avoid any further inquiries about 'weird stuff' in his own clumsily-skillful way. Alan sighed. Maybe tomorrow would be more fruitful. At least he hadn't gone hungry today. Greg had an extra sandwich or two buried in his van, which Alan ate on faith that they hadn't been buried for _too _long.

Alan got back into his car, reclining the driver's seat as far back as he could and preparing to settle in for the night. Tomorrow would surely bring him _something_, he knew it.

Or, at least, he hoped.

Before sleep could fully take a hold on him, Alan heard the light rapping of knuckles-on-glass. Rolling down his window, he made out the blurry figure of Greg. He was standing next to the car with a concerned look on his face.

"Hey man, I didn't know you didn't have a place to crash. If you want, there's a cot in the 'wash. You know, in that room past the main office with all the sponges and soap and stuff in it?"

Alan thought for a moment before remembering what Greg was talking about._ Oh, yes, the supply closet. What a palatial chateau. But, at least it's better than... this._

"But isn't that your room?"

"What? You think I'd live in a dinky place like that? No way man, I've got my own sweet setup!"

"You mean your... van?"

"Hah, I _knew_ you were a bright one!"

The closet turned out to be quite nice. At least, for a free place to live your employer of one day gives you, it was quite nice. A cot sat tight against two shelves full of cleaning supplies, and a small stack of bulk-material boxes served as a small night stand.

"Pretty nice digs, right?" Greg declared. "And you can use the car wash as a shower anytime!"

"Haha, you mean when people aren't around, right?"

Greg gave him a blank stare. "Yeah. That too."

Greg left with a "g'night, kid!", which Alan was too sleepy and confused to properly respond to. But Alan had set out that day to find a place to plant his feet. And as he lay his head down on the cot's lumpy mattress, he knew he had found it.

Every expedition into a new frontier had a base of operations. Apollo 11 had the Kennedy Space Center. Lewis and Clarke had forts Mandan and Clatsop. And Alan had the It's A Wash car-wash.


	3. The Pearl Hypothesis

A good theory requires a good hypothesis. Or, several good hypotheses. And, of course, a good analysis of good hypotheses backed by good data from a good experiment. Or... several of all of those things all at once. Alan held his head. He couldn't tell if his headache was from the lumpy cot or the room full of cleaning supplies or from his confusion and lack of direction, but he was coming to a realization that happened to coincide with the pain in his forehead. Alan had been in such a rush to come to Beach City and discover _something_ that he never bothered to figure out _what_ he should be trying to discover.

But Alan did know where to start. Something he was familiar with. Something that had taken up four long years of his life. Something that he had poured countless hours of analysis and data collection and coffee-soaked nights of revision and refinement into. Alan groaned as he exited his supply-closet-turned-home, hoping some fresh air would clear his head.

_I guess I'll go print my doctoral dissertation._

Except Alan didn't have a printer. He groaned again.

_I guess I'll go find where I can print things for..._

Alan checked his wallet and groaned a third time.

_...for free._

As Alan cracked his joints in the cool morning air, he noticed that Greg's van was running. Curious and more than a bit chilly, he went over to investigate. He found Greg sticking out the back, humming happily to himself and packing something.

_Is that a... picnic basket? I guess the most direct route would be to ask._

"Is that a picnic basket?"

"Wa-woahnow hey!" Greg blurted with a jump, turning to meet his ambusher. "Oh, kid, it's just you! You ah- haha, well, you can't sneak up on people like that, ya know? Almost gave me a heart attack."

Greg finished stuffing in a beach blanket that was clearly too large for the basket's remaining space. "Anyway, yeah, it's a picnic basket. Now that you're here to look after the 'wash, I'm havin' a beach day with my son!"

The door to Greg's van closed with finality. The beach day was _going_ to happen, regardless of how unsure Alan was that he could run the car-wash by himself.

"A-are you sure I'm ready for this? I mean, I paid attention all yesterday, but handling all this by myself on my _second_ _day_ is-"

"Ah hey don't even worry about it! All you gotta do is wash cars, take people's money, and make sure nobody leaves this place sad or whatever! Besides, most days are slow. You'll have _tons _of time to worry about it then."

Greg gave Alan a heavy, reassuring pat on the shoulders with his large hands, making Alan buckle a little under the weight of his geniality.

"Well, if you're sure... then I shall man this establishment to my fullest," Alan committed, standing as tall as he could so early in the morning.

"'Atta boy!" Greg encouraged, meeting his statement with a large, friendly grin. "If you need somethin' my number's on the counter."

As Greg stepped behind the wheel of his van, Alan remembered why he had wandered over.

"Oh, um, mist- uh, Greg. Do you know where I might print something in this town? For free?"

"Hmm," Greg mused, tapping his bushel of a beard in an exaggerated thinking motion, "well there's nothin' in the shop, but I think the library's got somethin' you can use."

Greg put the van in gear and started rolling away from the car-wash. "Just make sure you're here during business hours!" Greg yelled in farewell.

Alan went back to the main office and produced a fold-out map of Beach City from behind the counter.

_The car-wash officially opens at ten, and it's currently eight-oh-six. That leaves me one-hundred-and-four minutes to finish this plan, walk to the library, print my dissertation, and walk back. Now, it's a mile and a half to the library from here, so I'll need-_

Alan paused. Was he really incapable of printing something at a public library without a plan?

_I'll just... go there. That's a good plan._

* * *

The library looked new. Newer that any of the buildings Alan passed on the way there, at least. Not that any other building looked particularly old, but you could tell just by looking that the library was a new_er_. The windows were just a hint too spotless, the pavement just a bit too smooth and uniform, and the doorknob just a tad too polished and unmarred.

As he entered the small foyer, Alan was greeted by a most unusual sight. Behind the main desk hung a large, glossy poster of the Mayor, glaring down with a forced smile at all the library patrons and brandishing a large "Read Books!" banner. But the poster wasn't the unusual part. Right next to it, like some adorning statue to a medieval tapestry, was the mayor himself, smiling nervously from his post and brandishing his own "Re-elect Mayor Dewey!" banner. Drawn in by bizarre fascination, Alan caught the mayor's eye and immediately regretted it.

"You! You there! Welcome Beach City's _brand_ _new_ Dewey Library! Named after the _magnanimous_ sponsor who graciously approved of its construction."

Alan stared. _Am I supposed to say something back?_

The Mayor stared back. "It's... me. I'm the one who sanctioned the building zone." Dewey pointed to his own banner in emphasis, underlining his name several times with his finger.

"Did beach city not have a library before?" Alan pondered out loud. The Mayor jumped at the chance to finally unveil his talking points.

"Sure it did! But not since the, uh, _giant slug thing_ happened," the Mayor said, hurrying past the last part and almost causing Alan to miss it entirely. "But now it has one _again!_ It's all part of my 'Keep Beach City Reading' campaign. Because what use is a voting machine," Dewey paused for effect, and Alan almost walked away on the spot, "if you can't read it!"

The Mayor finished with as forced of a smile as he could manage, and Alan gave him a small, nervous chuckle in the hopes that it would sate his appetite for voter interaction. Instead of staying to find out whether it had, Alan turned on his heel and marched quickly out of the Mayor's sight.

_Wait, giant slug thing? Maybe I should go back and-_

Alan bumped into something with a small "oof!" Something tall, firm, and very turquoise. As Alan tumbled ungracefully to the ground, he noticed that whatever he bumped into hadn't moved at all. Also that _it_ was a _she_ and that she had very turquoise shoes. Alan's gaze rose, finding that she had an entire yellow-and-turquoise ensemble on as well, as if she had just left a dance recital and had rushed to the library without changing. Finally, he met her eyes; a pair of turquoise pupils looking down in mild surprise and sitting below a neatly tapered shock of peach hair.

"Oh, sorry, um... sir. Are you okay?"

Alan's gaze fixed on the two most obvious features of the dancer's face. The first was her long, pointed nose, which Alan was confident he should _not_ ask about. The second was the smooth, white oval sitting on her brow, though Alan was unsure whether the feature would be more or less appropriate to ask about.

"_Sir_?"

The address came across in a crisp, flat tone, as if the girl was quickly losing interest in partaking in the social exchange of an apology. Alan realized how ridiculous he must have looked sitting on the ground and staring up for as long as he had. He stood himself up with a wobbly motion.

"I'm uh- yes, I'm fine. And, uh, sorry! Yes, sorry. I wasn't really looking where I was walking and I... crashed. Into you."

"Yes, well, perhaps in the future you _should_ look where you are walking to prevent such unfortunate mishaps."

The girl walked gracefully past him towards the foyer, arms laden with books. Alan caught a glimpse at several of their spines; _Introduction to Biology_, _Electricity and Magnetism, For Kids!_, and _American History for Dummies_. It raised a brow.

_Is she teaching someone or something?_

Before the girl was out of earshot, Alan remembered that he was there to print and that he had no idea where the printer was.

"Oh, um, excuse me! Would you happen to know where the printer is? I'm new here and-"

"Oh, that? Humans have such _odd_ ways of transcribing information. Mechanically splatting globs of liquid pigment onto sheets of paper? Ugh. But, if you insist... the printer is in the northeast corner of the building. Follow the aisle on philology and linguistics until you reach the history section, then take a left. It should be sitting on a desk next to a stack of paper and a monitor."

Without any further acknowledgment the girl walked briskly away, leaving Alan with a small pile of questions, an equally sized pile of regrets for not asking them, and directions to the printer. With a small sigh, Alan decided to follow the only actionable legacy of their encounter and find the printer.

* * *

Alan leaned back in one of the lawn chairs scattered about outside the car-wash. Greg had been right; it _was_ a slow day. But Alan didn't mind. It gave him plenty of time to get re-acquainted with his dissertation. He held the stack of papers that represented the culmination of his life's work like a child holding a toy they used to play with every day. It wasn't that long ago that he was defending the contents of those sheets in front of a panel of experts and peers, but already the pages felt as though they were written by a different hand. Alan flipped to the front and read the title out loud to himself.

"The Application of Quantum Teleportation in Fully Deterministic Superliminal Communication Networks."

Alan sighed to himself. He can't believe he didn't think of a cooler name for his paper, like _Reallysuperfast Communication_ or _Talking By Means Of Mysterious Quantum Magic That Nobody Actually Understands_.

_No, it probably wouldn't have been published_, he concluded with a frown.

"Are you... asking me a question?"

Alan lowered his paper with a start. It was a familiar voice; one that reminded him of falling and stammering explanations and being really confused. He sprang to his feet and, sure enough, the dancer from the library was standing in front of him and giving him a questioning look.

"Ah, no! I was just- well, you see, there's this... how may I help you today at 'It's A Wash' car-wash?"

"Hmm, well, I _was_ hoping to find Greg here, but I see he has left his establishment to his..." the dancer paused and examined frazzled, young Alan for a moment. "To his _servant_."

"Servant?" Alan repeated. "I am an _employee_ here at 'It's A Wash.' I help clean the cars, organize the... things, count my employer's money, and make sure he can spend time with his family by working in his stead."

"I don't really see the distinction," the dancer concluded after a short period of internal deliberation. "Anyway, if you see Greg, tell him to at _least_ give some notice next time before taking Steven on one of his 'beach days.'"

Alan had no idea who this 'Steven' was supposed to be, but he made a dutiful mental note to pass the message along.

"Would that happen to be an educational manuscript from the library?"

The question caught Alan's attention. The dancer was looking at the front page of his dissertation, and Alan could tell that she was reading through the abstract with some absent interest.

"It's a research paper. I actually just finished reading through it."

"Ah, yes, I see it now." The dancer chuckled a little and shook her head. "Humans have such _strange_ ways of expressing trans-dimensional effects."

"Strange how?" Alan asked, slightly rebuffed by her reaction to his life's work.

"Well, take for example this whole quantum entanglement nonsense. As _quaint_ as the tenants of quantum mechanics are, and as _creative _as you humans have been with them, without the basic theories of trans-dimensional particle interaction you can't _possibly_ hope to explain why systems of particles in a single dimension would create a tangled superposition of quantum state! It seems the most popular argument amongst humans is to simply wave your hands at the issue and proclaim that 'it works.' Oh, and don't even get me _started_ on..."

As her explanation continued, the dancer took on an increasingly smug look, nose turning ever upwards into the air and mouth growing into an ever more condescending grin. Soon, the girl's expression was something Alan was sure someone somewhere would label 'annoying.' But the content of her speech was something else entirely to the young physicist. Something beyond annoyance or reproach.

As her explanation continued, Alan became increasingly interested in her. Not just the nose or the forehead-oval or the odd choice in everyday attire, but parts of her speech jumped out at him. 'You humans', 'amongst humans,' 'trans-dimensional particle interaction' – just what perspective was she speaking from? From what source of apparent knowledge was she fueling her speech?

_Should I even believe what she's saying?_

The question appeared in Alan's thoughts alongside the flood of information issuing forth from the strange girl before him. Was there something in her words that humanity hadn't discovered, or was she just rattling off nonsense? Does the oval on her forehead mean something, or is it just an odd piece of jewelry?

"...and that lack of basic understanding is why humans have barely even begun to leave this planet."

Alan snapped out of his thoughts. The girl was done speaking. By the look on her face, it might not have even mattered to her whether Alan was listening or not. Either way, it occurred to him that, despite the torrent of speech he had just stood witness to, he hadn't even learned the dancer's name. It also occurred to him that it would probably be rude to demand a name without giving one first.

"I'm Alan," he said, holding out a hand.

"Pearl," the girl replied, regarding his gesture with equal parts discomfort and suspicion. She gingerly took his hand with her own, gave it a very efficient shake, and let go. "It's a... _pleasure_ to make your acquaintance. I believe I should be going now so... farewell! Don't forget my message for Greg!"

Alan tried to wave goodbye, but Pearl had already turned about to walk away. With a weary sigh, he looked down at the stack of papers in his hands.

_New hypothesis: speaking with Pearl will result in me learning something._


	4. Asking Around Town For Data

Theories often become outdated and replaced- casualties of the great pursuit called science. One person's invaluable ideas, dominant and held as truth for centuries, could be overturned in a day's experimentation. It's a beautiful property that all scientific knowledge holds; it is testable, it is falsifiable, and it is transformative. And the results of such malleability are incredible. Flat planets have become spherical, atomic electrons have transform from static orbitals to clouds of probabilistic distribution, and elementary units of matter have become composites of infinitely small particles.

After the verbal assault Pearl had railed against his dissertation yesterday, Alan felt like his own personal slice of scientific knowledge may be due for a transformation. He sighed and placed it dejectedly on the desk in the main office.

_Of course, that _is_ assuming that Pearl is something more than some crazy... liar person or something._

Alan held his head. It was another morning fresh out of the supply closet, and he couldn't think straight with all of Greg's-

"What's she _mean_ I can't just take my son to the beach without telling anyone!"

Greg was flailing his limbs about animatedly, flinging water from the hose he was wielding like an elephant taking a very frantic bath. A hefty amount accumulated on Alan's head until he was staring, blankly, through a wet curtain his hair.

"Mist- no, uh, Greg. Greg? Maybe you shouldn't-"

"I mean, I _get_ it! He has important g- uh, _weird_ stuff to do and he shouldn't be out when they might need him and it's _probably_ pretty hard to protect him when they don't even know where he is and my _goodness_ Pearl's right."

With his last, defeated stanza, Greg disarmed himself of his hose and flopped his arms to his sides. Alan took the opportunity to swoop the hair out of his eyes in a vain attempt to keep his face from getting more wet. In the corner of his eye, he saw something- no, some_one_ approaching. Someone very short, very excited, and with _very_ curly hair.

"Is that someone we should know?" Alan asked. Greg gave him a questioning look, then followed his gaze to-

"Woa-hey, that's my _son!_"

A bobbing, curly-headed ball of happiness was running towards the car-wash, brandishing a huge grin and what looked like a giant cheeseburger with straps on it. As he got closer, the curly-head took a deep intake of air, held it for a moment, then transformed it into the largest, most joyful salutation Alan had heard in all of Beach City.

"HE~Y DAD!"

"_Son!_" Greg exclaimed, matching his son's enthusiasm in staccato'd reply. The boy ran straight into Greg and hugged him as hard as his small arms could manage. Greg's entire face cracked into an enormous smile and, laughing uncontrollably, he picked up the boy and swung him back and forth like he was trying to shake him off. Alan could do nothing but stare in disbelief. How could such pure _joy_ exist out here, on the cracked pavement of an old, beat-up car-wash? What place was there for an employee in his boss' heartfelt family moments?

_Certainly none. I can't image how awkward it would be if I tried to address him while he's-_

"Hey dad, who's that?"

To Alan's abject dismay, the boy was now pointing at him. And he was _certainly_ referring to him.

_No, wait! It's going to be awkward and I-_

"Oh, yeah! That's the new guy I hired to help me run the 'wash! Hey kid, come on over here and meet the family!"

_Oh no, nono. I can meet the family some other time. _Any_ other time. Or maybe never, if we're counting that as a member of the domain consisting of all of the available times to meet 'the family.'_

Despite himself, Alan walked stiff-leggedly towards the happy pair sitting on the pavement. Half of whom was directly responsible for his sole source of income.

"Alan, this is my son, Steven. Ah don't look so nervous! C'mon, he's the sweetest thing this side-o' the Atlantic. And Steven, this here's Alan. He's workin' here now."

Alan offered a salutatory smile that he was almost sure didn't look nervous. Though it's not like he had a mirror to check. "It's nice to meet you," he managed.

"Hey! Thanks for helpin' dad out with the ole' washy biz'!" Steven replied. It elicited a choppy, nervous laugh from Alan, who waved his hands in a 'it's-no-problem-he's-actually-helping-me-a-lot-more' sort of way. If simple physical gestures could encode such complex linguistic information.

"So, watcha got for me today Stevie-O?" his dad pressed.

"The gems and I are putting on a play!" Steven reached into his cheeseburger and pulled out several messily stapled stacks of paper. "Pearl's been all crazy about teachin' me lately! Keeps talking about 'earth knowledge' and how I should 'have it' and 'not be left behind by my human peers' and a bunch of other junk like that. But hey! I'm learnin' all I _have_ to learn from..."

Steven took on a stoic air, placing a hand over his heart and looking upwards into the morning sky.

"The single. Greatest. Source. Of wisdom. Out there."

Greg scratched the back of his head. "The internet?"

"No _dad_ it's you!"

"Well, it's nice to get some praise around here every once-in-a-while. But you better pay attention to Pearl anyway. Ya know, just in case."

"Haha, I _know_. She picked up a buncha books from the library and we found a _play_ in one of them!" Steven shook the papers around excitedly. "I'm gonna be an _electron_."

Alan's brow furrowed. _What sort of textbook has educational plays about subatomic particles?_

"Cool deeds, Steven! Mind if yer old man comes to watch?"

"Of course not!" Steven proclaimed loudly. "We're inviting everyone we know! It's this Saturday at sunset. Be there."

Alan's brow furrowed further. _Is this a dramatic pause or is he done tal-_

"-or be _square_."

"Well done, son," Greg chuckled, "now we oughta get to work. Who _knows_ how many hundreds of cars could come flyin' through here at any second!"

Noticing the confused look on Alan's face, Greg waved him over and offered an explanation.

"Sometimes I like to let him help out at the 'wash. It's sort of a father-son work-bonding sorta deal. Ya know? Anyway don't sweat it, kid. You've got the day off today! Consider it a bonus for working the joint all yesterday by yourself."

"O-oh! Well, um, thank you, sir-"

"Haha, it's _Greg_. None of that 'sir' stuff, there aren't any knights around here or anythin'. Go on, enjoy yourself!"

Alan gave him a genial smile. One that he felt was real, even as it spread to the corners of his mouth and tugged them upwards "Thanks, Greg. I'll see you later."

"See ya Al-ee-oop!"

Alan turned at the strange nickname and saw Steven, waving energetically at the person he had met not ten minutes ago and whom he already considered a boon to his family. It was strangely comforting, though the stiff wave Alan gave in return displayed none of that comfort.

There were still many questions about that odd girl, Pearl, that Alan wanted answered. As he walked away, one goal drew prominent in his mind. _Where would I find this Pearl?_

* * *

Alan wandered about, unsure where to begin or where he would end up.

_Judging by our previous encounters, the data suggests that Pearl will either be at the car-wash, where I will _definitely_ not be returning, or at the library._

He passed by the donut shop he had seen when he first drove through the town. The same two teens he had seen back then were slouching together at the counter, like two lazy sentinels carved into the same pose. Same elbow-resting-on-the-counter pose, same head-supported-by-a-limp-hand pose, same eyes-barely-open-but-technically-still-awake-because-they're-at-work pose. Driven by some urge to know more than four people in the town, Alan decided to disturb their stasis and buy a donut. Upon hearing the bell jingle above the door, both teens sprung quickly into service oriented alertness with Pavlovian-like reflexes.

"Welcome to the Big Donut," the shorter one piped in greeting, "what can I get for you?"

"One glazed. And... I was hoping you could tell me a bit about someone in town. Do either of you know Pearl?"

"Pearl?" the shorter one said, stuffing a donut into a bag and placing it on the counter. "Oh, _that_ Pearl. Well, we don't really... _know_ her. But we know _of_ her."

"Hey isn't she one of those _magic ladies_ that Steven hangs out with?" the taller one contributed with an exaggerated hand wiggle at the term 'magic ladies.' "What are they like his aunts or somethin'?"

_His aunts?_

Alan thought back to his first drive around Beach City. He was sure now that it was Steven he saw back then on the pier, but he had assumed the woman with the large hair and dated sunglasses was his mother.

_Wait, just what does he mean by 'magic ladies'?_

"Just what do you mean by 'magic ladies'?"

"Well whenever anythin' _weird_ goes on around here it's their fault!" the taller one complained, brushing his tongue with one finger like he was trying to scrub off a bad memory. "And _Steven's_ one of 'em. He's got a magic belly-button and everything."

"C'mon Lars, it's not always bad," the shorter one chided. "They did bring back the ocean that one time. By the way, you new around here, sir?"

"Yeah, um, Alan. It's Alan. My name, that is. How'd you know?"

"Well, everyone who lives here already knows about Steven's... aunts. I'm Sadie, and this is Lars. You ever need a donut, you know who to talk to!" Sadie concluded with the perfect employee's smile.

"Haha, yes, well, if you ever need a, uh... vehicle, um, washed then... I work at the car-wash."

"What, with Steven's dad?" Sadie asked, taking Alan's dollar for the donut. "How'd you get a gig like that?"

"He sort of just gave it to me. Without asking my credentials."

"Well, word of advice, _sir_," Lars said, leaning over the counter conspiratorially, "don't get mixed up with those _gems_. They're nothin' but trouble!"

Sadie elbowed Lars in the ribs, eliciting a small yelp. "Alright, alright! They're other things than trouble. B-but still, mostly trouble!"

"I... see. Thank you for the warning. And the donut."

"No problem, sir. See ya around!"

Munching on his donut while wandering the town, Alan considered the new information he had acquired. 'Gem' was the colloquial term that residents of Beach City applied to the women tentatively considered Steven's aunts. And, apparently, they were 'trouble.' Whatever that meant. Alan sighed to himself.

_Maybe I won't look for Pearl. Sounds like a complicated family situation, with... _complicated_ family members._

Carried by familiarity to the only other establishment in Beach City he'd visited, Alan found himself in front of the library. He chuckled to himself and entered the building, resolving to read a book or go over his dissertation again instead of seeking out that strange girl.

_I mean, what are the odds of bumping into _her _here again? There's no way she's-_

"Excuse me, do you have any more educational textbooks like this one? Preferably on different subjects."

Alan stopped mid-thought and mid-stride.

_No way._

There, in the foyer, standing at the reception desk, defying all odds, was Pearl. She was holding _Electricity and Magnetism, For Kids!_ in front of her and talking to someone. Someone very confused and very sweaty.

_Mayor Dewey?_

"N-now now, Miss Pearl. I've ah- I've _told_ you that I am just here to greet the patrons of this fine establishment, sponsored by _yours truly_, so as to-"

"But you're standing at the receptionist's desk."

"I- yes, I understand that, but-"

"And you're the only one there."

"I... am. I am, true, however-"

"So what function would you be serving at the receptionist's desk, by yourself, if not to _receive_ patrons?"

The mayor yielded a sigh. "I'll... I'll check the records."

Pearl smiled smugly, turning her head upwards, just so, in victory. Alan took the opportunity to try and sneak around, but before he could complete his maneuver their eyes met.

"Oh, hello, um... Alaric."

"It's Alan."

"Ah. Well, I was only three letters away. I've been meaning to... apologize. For yesterday. Someone very dear to me informed me that making fun of flawed human knowledge was 'not very nice.' So... yes. I am sorry."

_She's... apologizing? Why? There was so much information in those few short minutes of ranting! So much to be collected and analyzed and tested. There's just-_

"So much you can teach me."

Alan's face blanked.

_Oh was that my outside-the-head voice that's not what I-_

"W-what?" Pearl managed in a startled tone.

_I said it, it happened. No regrets!_

"There's so much you can teach me!" Alan repeated excitedly. "Trans-dimensional particle interaction? What does that even _mean_? And why do you think quantum mechanics is so wrong? I mean, it's been the source of valuable predictive models for the past _century_ and here you are claiming that it's a crude _crutch_ humanity's been leaning on for answers, it's astounding! Is there more? And why do you keep talking about humans like they're some outside group! What are you? Where did you learn-"

"Haha oh, um... I think I left the, uh, dryer. On. I left it on very, very high! Oh, what a waste of electricity! I had _better_ go... tend to that. Goodbye!"

With that, Pearl turned on her heels and gracefully stepped past Alan, disappearing into the afternoon. Alan scratched his head.

_I guess I handled that wrong._

"Hey, where'd she go? I _just_ found some comparable reading material for her. There's a whole _For Kids!_ series of textbooks back here, isn't that crazy? Hah, well... I'll just put these on hold for her. Then she'll _have_ to come back. Hey, didn't I see you yesterday?"

"I... don't think so, Mayor Dewey," Alan said evasively, turning for the door.

"Well, just remember who sponsored this building!" the mayor called after his retreating frame. "And remember who to _re-elect!_"

* * *

Alan found his way back to the car-wash at the end of his mostly unproductive day. Steven was just giving his dad an enormous good-bye hug, and Greg was making sure his son was ready to go home.

"You got everything, bud?"

"Yup!"

"Yeah? Well where's yer cheeseburger?"

Steven gasped. "_Cheeseburger backpack!_"

"Hah! Woah there kiddo, don't panic. It's on the desk with all your scripts."

Steven ran towards the main office, leaving Greg and Alan to ruminate in the light of the setting sun.

"Didja like your day off?"

"Hm? Oh, yes, it was pleasant enough. Say, can I ask you something?"

"Sure thing, kid!"

"Is Pearl your sister-in-law?"

Greg guffawed, eyes widening in surprise.

"Is she- what! Hah, no way, man! She's one of the-" Greg stopped himself, searching for the right words. "She's one of Steven's guardians. She just... helps takes care of him, that's all."

"But I heard she was magic."

"You heard she- double what! Of _course_ she's not magic! That's- there's no _way_ that that could be a, uh, thing about her."

Alan kicked himself for believing so easily in a couple of tired teens working the midday shift at a donut shop. Of course she's not magic. Of _course_. But still, an inkling of a doubt worked its way into Alan's head.

_What if there _is_ something special about her?_

The young physicist found new determination.

_Yes, there must be something to go off of; at least she may be able to substantiate all the strange rumors floating around of Beach City._

Steven flew by with a hurried "See ya later, dad!", cheeseburger strapped tightly to his back and face adorned with the frantic look of someone who was supposed to be home much earlier. Alan headed for his cozy supply closet, picking up his dissertation from the main office desk as he passed by.

...Except it wasn't there.

Alan did a frantic double-take. His hands were empty. The desk was empty. The floor was... filthy, but not full of dissertations. It was gone. He let out a long, exasperated sigh, emptying his lungs to properly express his disappointment at the state of the universe.

_Okay, so my hypothesis has so far been rebuffed. By talking to Pearl, I did not, in fact, learn anything new. But that was just one data point. The prediction _could_ hold if I keep trying. Yes, that's it! Tomorrow, there shall be more trials to run. And... more dissertations to print._


	5. Pearl's Log, Entry One

===== _begin transcription_ =====

Ahem hm. Hem. Is- is this thing working? Ugh, _still_? I swear I- wait, yes! There it is! I _knew_ I could do it!

Yes, hello. This is the personal log of the Pearl, entry one. Created, I might add, at _Steven's_ behest, to-

_Sigh._

-to "relieve the swirling vortex of tension pulling me into sadville." That- that last part was a quote, does this thing understand that?

Anyway, the very _notion_ that an emotional state like tension, which is usually induced by a complex combination of stressing factors, can be relieved by simply stating my thoughts out loud is _preposterous_.

But, here I am.

Last week I came to the conclusion that Steven requires a conventional, human-based Earth education. I then remembered that us gems are _far_ more qualified to teach Steven, and that the very thought of leaving his young, impressionable mind in the hands of those... those _clowns_ in Beach City is, quite frankly, horrifying.

The realization arose when Steven and his friend, Connie, were having some sort of... contest of intelligence. Though the rules could _hardly_ decide a winner in any objective sense. They took turns asking each other questions, and whenever one of them answered a question incorrectly they had to...

_Gulp._

...take a drink of milk and eat an _entire_ cookie. I don't know how they can _manage!_ All that grinding and the mush and- oh! I can't even bear to think of it! Of course, I tried to warn them of the dangers of over consumption in humans. After all, an average human adult can only hold about one liter of food in their stomach at any one time, and Steven is _far_ from being an adult. Or being average, for that matter. Unfortunately, my warnings went unheeded _once again_ and, given Steven's lack of conventional human education, he, predictably, lost. In fact, he lost all over the front porch. At least Amethyst agreed to clean it up, since she was the one who egged them into doing it in the first place.

Then, the most amazing thing happened. Steven _actually_ said- a-ahem. Hem. "Aw, man! I wish I could be all smart like Connie!"

Oh my, that was a terrible impression of Steven. Luckily this can't transcribe tone or pitch... can it?

Oh whatever, what _matters_ is that Steven wants to be educated! Not that those were his exact words, mind you, but 'being smart' does not come instantly. I, of course, was in full support of the idea. We don't want Steven to be left behind by his human peers and all of their Earth knowledge, after all. But perhaps being smart like Connie is aiming a little too low. Oh, that was rude, wasn't it? What I _mean_ is that we gems have enormous pools of knowledge to draw from. Why shouldn't someone be allowed to take a small sip every once in a while?

Thus, it has been my _labor_ in the past week to identify and distribute an appropriate range of topics, both defined in standardized Earth educational settings _and_ from mission-relevant information, for Garnet, Amethyst, and I to teach to Steven.

_Naturally_, many of the more advanced topics, including biology, chemistry, physics, philosophy, and mathematics have been assigned to me. Garnet seems satisfied with the more... _physical_ topics of education. I suppose some small amount of combat training would be beneficial, considering how many deadly, deadly creatures Steven ends up in front of or behind of or... inside of. A _small_ amount. Oh, Garnet better not overwork him! She _knows_ how he gets when he's tired and I am _not_ making a pile of extra meals every single week because-

Hooo. Breath. It will be fine. Garnet is focused and responsible. Amethyst, on the other hand... pfah! I'm not sure she even knows what focus and responsibility _are_! Oh, haha! That was a _good_ one... but I shouldn't use this log for jokes.

But it's not like I, _Pearl_, am any better. I like to roll around in the mud and oink like a pig-

_Amethyst!_ You _know_ the holorecorder transcribes everything dictated to it! How did you even get _in _here_?_ No, it doesn't matter just... just go!

Hahaha, have fun reading _that_ later! Wap wap!

_Ugh_. I swear, that girl...

I informed everyone of my regular log dictation schedule, as per Steven's request, so as to secure a measure of privacy in my room! She _knows_ she's not allowed to-

Oh. I see. By failing to factor in Amethyst's annoying nature, I doomed my own venture before it began.

_Sigh._

My attempts to teach Steven, thus far, have had... mixed results. I underestimated the effects that withholding him from a standard education would have. There are substantial gaps of elementary understanding in almost _every_ topic that must be identified and dealt with before he can be _truly _educated. For example, how will he ever learn to do something as simple as calculating the induced electromotive force in a closed circuit if he can't even take a surface integral? Oh, but should we even be teaching him the _human_ way of doing things? No offense to mister Michael Faraday or his _laws_, but there are parallel equations of _gem_ origin that would, no doubt, be of more use.

And these textbooks that I picked up from the library simply do not connect with him. None of them successfully capture Steven's attention for more than ten minutes before he's off reading one of Connie's books or playing a videogame or... _eating_. Ugh. Never will I understand the act of eating as a recreational activity. The only book he seemed to be interested in was that... what was it called? Electricity and magnetism for kids? Yes, that one. It was actually _quite_ the comprehensive beginner's primer for electromagnetism- as it's understood on Earth. But there were so many distracting pictures and limericks and... and there was even a performable play for children in the middle. A _play!_ I mean, what sort of textbook has educational plays about subatomic particles?

The book was, however, quite effective at tricking Steven into learning. He even understands that some particles have charge now! Not that he knows exactly _what_ a particle is, but he knows some of them have charge. Unfortunately, the _cost_ of such knowledge is that we, the Crystal Gems, sworn guardians of this planet, have to, um-

Ahem. Hem.

We have to put on a play. For the whole town, if Steven gets his way, though I have entered negotiations with him and may appeal for a smaller audience. It's not _quite_ how I wanted to spend our teaching efforts, but, if that's what Steven wants...

Anyway, due to the success of 'electricity and magnetism for kids,' I have resolved to find books of a similar nature to stimulate young Steven's mind. Unfortunately I... ahem... _fled_ the library yesterday in something of a rush before I could locate them.

I met that young man currently acting as a servant at Greg's vehicle cleaning service. Oh, this log has no record of him, does it? His name is Ala...n? Yes, Alan. The same Alan who, as Steven informed me, I seemed to have wronged the other day. He was holding some human-written article on the merits of some silly human notion or another. What was it, quantum teleportation? Pfah! It was basically a _vague_ approximation of trans-dimensional communication- not even transportation, just communication!- that glossed over all the parts where the phenomena was actually, you know, _explained_. And I believe I said as much to him, though he _did_ take on something of a distant look in the middle of my explanation. The same look that humans often get when one _attempts_ to reveal to them a _superior_ rational model of-

Ah, I'm getting worked up again. Steven told me that "making fun of someone just 'cuz they're not all smart like you aren't isn't very nice." B-but, it wasn't _him_ I was making fun of, it was his flawed human knowledge! I-

I don't know why I'm arguing this to you. You're not Steven. You're a holographic dictation log. But where was I? Ah, yes, Greg's servant. I apologized to him- you're _welcome_, Steven- but instead of following the social convention of dismissing my transgression he started...

Actually, I guess I didn't listen to him that closely. I think he was... _praising_ me for my outburst the previous day! Or, at least, trying to figure out, with his limited human understanding, what my outburst was about. E-either way, he was _definitely_ saying that the things I said were great and, one can assume, that _I_ am great! Haha! I _knew_ pointing out someone's mistakes wasn't a bad thing to do! All these humans need is a _little_ direction and they- ah, heh, ahem.

I mustn't get carried away. Steven was right, and apologizing was the right thing to do.

I-I just get so... _irritated_ when I think about...

_Sigh_.

Rose, why here? Why _this_ planet? Why _these_ people? I've seen what humans can do. To themselves, to this world, to... It's _awful_, Rose! They're so _backwards_, so _selfish_! All they can think about is how to fill their short century of a life with as much _excess_ and... and _wanton_ _pleasure_ as they can manage; all they care about is some self-promoted _legacy_ that won't live past their people's own short memories! They can't deal with the fact that this world- this _reality_\- is an infinitely complicated mess of interrelated events and laws and states of being that they can never _hope_ to understand in their short _blink_ of an existence. But they still... they still try, so hard. And I watch them crawling their way, slowly, generation after generation, towards some higher purpose, but- but each time any one of them gets close they...

They die, Rose. They can't accomplish what we _gems_ have because they don't have a choice; they can't hide from the inevitability of their mortality like _we_ can by avoiding danger or choosing a peaceful life. They use up the sands of their hour-glass trying to feel good, and by the time they realize they want to do something _worthwhile_, they just... _end_.

And do you know what the worst part about it is, Rose? For all our accomplishments; for all the centuries we're allowed to float about the universe and unravel its mysteries; for all the time we're allowed to live-

We gems are no better.

Hm. Well, we're a _little_ bit better. Haha, listen to me... babbling away to this little holographic log like it could actually understand me. But... I do feel a bit better. Hm! I guess Steven was right! Though I don't know why I'm so surprised- he _has_ been correct about similar issues before.

And that Alan fellow... I know that it _probably_ sounds like I have a generally negative impression of him. And that's because I do. But having my knowledge _valued_ like that...

It... felt sort of nice.

Now then. Ahem hm. Hem. Holorecorder? End log.

Oh, wait, how do I turn this thing off? I _knew_ I should've spent more than a couple of hours designing the-

===== _end transcription_ =====


	6. Tapping Potential

Humans have incredible potential. They often can't see it, grounded as they are in the hectic machinations of day-to-day life. But every so often, if they hold their head in the clouds long enough, they catch a glimpse of what the Gems have seen since they descended on this troubled little world; each and every one of them is waiting, like a bowstring left slack, for someone to pull them in the right direction. Not that every person is aimed at the right target- some have been cultivated and inspired to do terrible and dreadful deeds. But sometimes- _sometimes_, when they are notched with an ideal and aimed at something good, something _honest_, they are capable of marvelous things. Humans are wrought with potential just _waiting_ to be unleashed. But first, they must be willing. Then, it can be coaxed out of them.

Standing with a look of pure exasperation in front of a thrice-erased chalkboard, Pearl wasn't sure if Steven was unwilling or if she just wasn't coaxing properly.

"Alright. Steven," Pearl said tiredly, "let's go over this _one_ more time."

With a small notebook in hand and his tongue sticking out of his mouth, Steven gave the Gem an enthusiastic series of nods. The two were in an impromptu teaching environment, of Pearl's design, in the middle of the beach house, fully adorned with a chalkboard, a comprehensive array of writing implements, and a single school desk acting as Steven's throne. Pearl sighed and picked up her ever-shortening piece of chalk, steeling herself to reintroduce the same lecture she had been introducing for the past half-hour.

"Now, let's say that the magnetic field, represented by these crosses, is coming _out_ of the board."

"Out... of... the board," Steven echoed, writing hectically in his notebook. "Got it!"

_Oh, he actually understood! The first two times he _insisted_ that the board had to be a giant magnet for this to be true_, _so I'm counting this as progress._

"_This_ circle inscribed with a plus represents a positively charged particle."

"I agree, Pearl; that particle is _absolutely_ charged!"

Steven struck a my-joke-is-done-now pose in expectation, to which Pearl could only offer a shaky, conciliatory laugh. "Y-yes, Steven, um... yes. Now, the particle is moving in _this_ direction, up the board, such that its motion is exactly _perpendicular_ to the direction of the magnetic field. In which direction will the magnetic force act upon the particle?"

"Um..." Steven trailed off, resting his head in his hands and furrowing his brow in concentration.

_He's thinking about it! _Yes_, Steven! _This_ is what the pursuit of knowledge is all about! Hitting your head against something new and _wracking_ your mind upon it until you find-_

"So... in this situation, what, _exactly_, does, say... per-pen-di-cu-lar mean?"

_Oh my, I was mistaken._

"It _means_ that they are at a right angle to each other."

"And... is there a _wrong_ angle for them to be at?"

Pearl sighed again; an expression that she was growing accustomed to. "No, Steven. Well, _yes_, I suppose if they were at anything _other_ than ninety degrees from each other- but that isn't the point. The _point_ is-"

_Wait, what _is_ the point?_

Pearl grabbed a pair of pencils and placed them on the chalkboard; one pointing straight out and one pointing straight up. "It's like this, Steven."

"Oh! Then that's _easy_!"

"I-it is?!"

"Yup!" Steven declared, closing his eyes triumphantly. "The thingy is gonna move _outta_ the board!"

Pearl stared at the young Gem, who was now lifting his chin up and awaiting confirmation. After several long seconds of silence, Steven opened one eye and saw Pearl, slowly shaking her head and stammering with a way to say 'no' nicely.

"But that's how an _electric_ field would do it!" Steven complained. "_Curse_ you magnetic field, why can't you be more like your brother!"

Pearl quickly brandished a smile. "Don't give up, Steven! Just remember the, ah..."

_Oh, what was that hand-based learning device?_

Pearl flipped through her copy of _Electricity and Magnetism, For Kids!_ until she found the relevant figure. "-the... right-hand rule?"

_What a bizarre way of indicating the direction of a vector cross-product_, Pearl mused, pointing her thumb in the air, her index finger away from her, and her middle finger to the left.

"Right! Of _course_! The right-hand rule!" Steven said in exaggerated realization. He mimicked Pearl's hand configuration with an excited grin. One that fell, very steadily, into a confused pucker. "So... what does this mean again?"

With another sigh, Pearl went to the chalkboard and started drawing a hand. She was about to begin labeling the fingers in elaboration when the temple door opened.

"Oh, Garnet!" Pearl exclaimed, "I was wondering if you could give me a hand with Steven. I've been _trying_ to explain magnetic fields to him but I- I just _can't_ connect."

They both looked at Steven, who was now pretending to shoot his hand like a gun with two perpendicular barrels. Garnet responded with a single, stoical hum, then fell silent for the better part of a minute.

_Is she reading the chalkboard? I guess I can't really tell, what with her glasses and all._

"Pea'l, this stuff's too ha'd," Garnet said, finally breaking her silence. "Steven can't unde'stand somethin' like this."

Pearl balked. "Too _hard_? But _you're_ the one always telling me that I should 'believe in Steven' and 'have more faith in him!'"

"Yeah, well... this stuff's too ha'd."

Pearl groaned and rested her head on the chalkboard, eliciting a dull thud.

_Just what am I doing wrong? Never mind what the best method to teach him is, I can't even tell what Steven does and doesn't know._

Garnet marched over to Steven and picked him up, slinging him under one arm. "C'mon Steven, it's time fo' trainin'."

"Training!" Steven yelled, completely sideways and beaming.

As she passed by, Garnet put a firm, reassuring hand on Pearl's shoulder. "Maybe you just need to lea'n to teach."

Pearl smiled at the simple gesture, waving Garnet and Steven off. As soon as they left the beach house, the Gem slumped to the floor, eyes cast downwards.

_Learn to teach, huh?_

Glancing around the room passively, her gaze caught on several stacks of papers sitting messily on the kitchen counter.

_Steven left those scripts of his lying around again, didn't he? Oh well, if nobody else is going to, I guess _I'll_ have to clean them up._

With a small, satisfied 'hmph!', Pearl started organizing the piles; cleaning up messes always made her feel better. But her efforts paused when she saw a familiar sheet of paper.

"The Application of Quantum Teleportation in Fully Deterministic Superluminal Communication Networks?"

"Wa-hoa, what's all _that_ mumbo-jumbo supposed ta mean?"

Pearl turned at the familiar voice and found Amethyst, sitting on top of Steven's desk and looking at her with, what Pearl imagined was, a mocking grin.

"_Amethyst_," Pearl hissed through her teeth, "I _still_ haven't forgiven you for... for _besmirching_ my personal log this morning with your _silly nonsense_."

Pearl tried to show Amethyst as annoyed of a face as she could manage, but, to her surprise, found that she was looking at herself. A very, very purple version of herself.

"Oh _Amethyst_," the purple Pearl mocked, "you're so _silly_ and have _no sense!_ Now I'm gonna go dance around in the _mud_ and eat _corn meal_ from my pig-pen!"

"A-Amethyst!" Pearl exclaimed, a flustered blush rising to her cheeks. "That is _entirely_ inappropriate! I am-... t-the very _idea_ that I would- oh, you shouldn't be shape-shifting into me anyway! You _know_ what Garnet said about teammates and-"

"Yeah yeah, lighten up," Amethyst conceded, springing back into her normal form. "And, for the record, I'm _sorry_ about your log or whatever. I thought you were just doin' it ta make Steven happy, ya know? I didn't know it meant so much to ya."

Pearl's expression softened. "Well, alright Amethyst. So long as you've learned your lesson, I'm willing to put this _all_ behind us."

"Hey, don't push yer luck," the purple Gem scowled. "I don't _have_ to be this nice ya know."

With that, Amethyst pushed off of Steven's desk and ran outside, yelling after the Gems training on the beach.

_I'd almost forgotten why I tolerate her_, Pearl chuckled to herself. Turning her attention back to the sheet of paper in hand, Pearl started reading the abstract again.

_Oh, _I_ remember this. That fellow, Alan, was holding it when I happened into him at Greg's business. Hah! Just as inane now as it was then. Hold on a moment, what's this?_

Pearl held the page up to the light, squinting to read the faded text at the top of the document. "Oh, this page must have printed wrong. Let's see... a dissertation presented to the Department of Physics and the Graduate School of the University of Delmarva- where's _that_?- in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy. Hm. Written by... Alan... oh, I can't make out this last name, it's an absolute mess."

_Wait... Alan? As in servant-at-the-car-wash Alan? Bump-into-me-and-fall-down-looking-for-the-printer Alan? And this title... a dissertation? As I understand it, research institutes nowadays require the completion of such a document for the conferral of an advanced degree. But this _can't_ be the same Alan- can it? Oh, but if it _is_, then this means..._

"I openly mocked that person. To his face. About his life's work."

Pearl drooped her face into her free hand. _How has _Steven_ figured out all of this... human interaction business? Not that I'm _incompetent_ at it by any means, but- oh, how can _anyone_ ignore such an affront to knowledge_ _as _this_? How was I to know that this was the supposed culmination of all of his intellectual efforts?_

Peeking in between her fingers, Pearl picked up the rest of the dissertation. _Perhaps if I read more than one page, I'll have a better opinion of it._

"Not that I'm holding my breath or anything," Pearl stated with a smirk to the empty beach house. She plopped down on the couch- very lightly- and settled in for a midday's read.

_It may at _least_ be entertaining._

* * *

"...and, in conclusion, this study recommends further investigation into alternative methods for generation of entangled photon pairs, as well as non-hybrid techniques of achieving fully deterministic transport of photonic quantum bits, to approach the ideal of superluminal communication."

Pearl let out a long sigh, letting her arms, and the research paper in her hands, fall to her sides. The sun was just beginning to set, and Pearl felt like she had just finished a short book in one hectic sitting of reading. A small grin worked its way onto her face.

_Oh no, keep it together, Pearl._

The grin spread into a smirk, barely contained, through very conscious effort, by Pearl's pursed lips.

_This... this is _not_ the polite thing to do. Alan worked _very_ hard on this, I'm sure, and-_

Despite herself, Pearl let a small giggle escape. She flung her hands to her mouth.

_W-what would Steven say if he saw me like this? _Surely_ something about being smart and not being mean and-_

The stop-gap measure that Pearl's palms provided proved too little. A multi-syllabic chuckle followed shortly after her giggle, causing her entire form to shake.

_But it was just so... so..._

Resolve fading, Pearl finally allowed her hands to fall away and for a full bodied roll of laughter to overtake her. "I-it was just so- haha, oh- just so _wrong!_"

Pearl fell to one side, holding herself in laughter and barely staying on the couch. She had just gotten the last of her snickers under control when a timid knock graced the beach house's front door.

_Who could it be at this hour? Greg is working his car-wash today, no further packages are expected this week, and Connie has scheduled no visits with Steven._

With mild curiosity, Pearl answered the door with as proper of a human greeting as she could remember.

"Why he_llo_. How are _you_ today? What business do you have here at such an _unusual_ hour of the day?"

_Hm. That last one may have been a tad brusque_.

"O-oh! Um, hi. Hello! Yes, hello. It's, uh, me."

Standing at her doorstep, hand still raised as if unsure whether to knock again, was Alan. Pearl's eyes widened, but she kept her composure as best she could.

_Oh dear. We mustn't be rude, Pearl. We must treat him with respect, despite the-_

An incriminating grin broke out on Pearl's face. She attempted to stifle it by forcing the corners of her mouth down with the rest of her facial muscles, resulting in a very tense pucker, as though she was trying to hold a very stubborn acorn in her mouth. Alan, slightly unnerved, opened his mouth to ask, closed it again, then resolved to finish his greeting instead.

"Me being Alan, of course."

"Oh yes, of _course_. Alan. We've met."

"Right! Right, we have. Haha, _anyway_... I'm here regarding a certain research paper that I believe- well, it was Greg's intuition, actually- that Steven took with him yesterday. Accidentally, I'm sure."

_Oh, I'm _sure_ it was an accident_, Pearl thought, causing the barely contained grin to spread into a smirk. Dismayed, Pearl placed one hand calmly over her mouth, allowing her lips to take on whatever amused shape they pleased.

"Yes, It's here. Young Steven must have mistaken it for one of his play scripts."

_Given the _elementary_ level of understanding displayed in it._

A small giggle escaped from behind Pearl's hand. She quickly stifled it by pressing her palm firmly against her mouth, but it was too late. One of Alan's eyebrows raised, to which Pearl raised both of hers.

_Oh no. Breath, Pearl. We _mustn't_ be rude- just think of what Steven would say._

"Right... may I... have it back?"

"Of course," Pearl said, waving her free hand for Alan to step inside. He stared for a moment, scrutinizing her gestural semaphore before deciding that it was, indeed, an invitation. Upon entering, Alan turned in a slow, analytic circle, absorbing as much as his eyes could from his foothold in the beach house.

"I guess it looks... normal," he said under his breath, catching Pearl's attention.

_Normal? Compared to what? Oh, I _knew_ we should have done a more comprehensive study on traditional domestic structure and design of the twentieth century before building this place._

"The _paper_ is right over here," Pearl directed, trying to distract Alan from... whatever it was he was looking for. "I just finished reading it and I-"

_Oh no. Now he's going to ask for my opinion on it! How am I supposed to remain cordial when the _correct_ things to say are so... impolite?_

"Y-you read it? You've read my paper?" Alan snapped predictably to attention, an excited smile adorning his face. "What did you think of it?"

"It was, um, _very_-"

Pearl interrupted herself with a chuckle, which she waved away very animatedly until it abated.

"I found it _quite_-"

This time, the chuckle was more akin to a laugh. It took Pearl twice as long to compose herself, but she eventually regained control. However, the more she fought to contain it, the harder it fought back for release. Finally, Pearl buckled under the burden of her own rising laughter.

"It wa- ahaha! Oh it was so _misinformed!_ So- _haha!_\- so _off base_!"

Alan frowned briefly, but it soon turned into a different, more distant expression. One Pearl recognized from the first time she had spoken against the information in his paper.

"I-if I may... what, exactly, did you find wrong?"

Pearl paused for a moment, looking at Alan in slight confusion. _He's not... angry? Upset? This paper was _everything_ his life was leading up to and now... well, now, he _surely_ deserves _some_ sort of explanation_.

"First off, it was your _circuitous_ use of human quantum mechanics to only _partially_ explain phenomena that- oh, ahah! A-ahem. Phenomena that can be fully described by a _much_ smaller series of calculations based on a model of inter-dimensional particle interaction. I mean, who would choose such a _difficult method_ to reveal something so _incompletely_?"

Pearl caught a glimpse of Alan, whose expression had grown ever slightly more troubled.

_Evidently, Alan would. Hooo... breath, Pearl. It wouldn't hurt to be less mocking_.

"A-and," Pearl managed to continue, "these claims of superluminal communication using classical _human_ methods of data transfer-"

"You don't believe it's possible?"

"Well, sure, if you live in an _alternate_ _dimension_ where information can be read _faster_ than the _speed_ of _light_!" Pearl's laughter came back anew, causing her to double over and hold the coffee table for support. As her laughter slowly faded, Pearl noticed that, besides her own snickering, the room was completely silent. No cries of indignation, no sobbing, sniveling sadness. Just... silence. In that silence, Pearl noticed that her guest was staring at her, wide-eyed but otherwise blank-faced.

_Oh dear, have I offended past the point of expressions of outrage? I- I _have_ to apologize_.

"Alan, I _do_ apologize. Perhaps this shouldn't have gone as far as it-"

"...does it exist?"

_What?_

"I-I'm sorry, does _what_ exist?"

"That dimension. Where information can be read faster than the speed of light. Does it exist?"

_W-what?!_

"I was _actually_ attempting to make a joke."

_A task at which I, apparently, completely failed_.

"B-but do they exist? Other dimensions? And I don't mean other _spatial_ dimensions like you'd use to describe a hypercube or something. It's just, well, not the first time I've heard you mention trans-dimensional particle interaction. That implies that there are more dimensions, right?"

_Is he... _actually_ interested?_

Something small sparked inside of Pearl. At first, she was sure it was just a sentimental hiccup. A typical member of the random variations of emotion that happen when _anyone_ engages in a social exchange with _anyone_ else. But it grew, very slowly, until it could no longer be ignored. She thought of all the duties she had to fulfill; the obligations she had to meet.

_Duties like passing my knowledge on. Obligations like teaching Steven. _

The feeling swelled, earning a majority her attention. It brushed against the skills she wanted to learn; the experiences she had yet to cultivate.

_Skills like being a capable tutor. Experiences like learning how to teach._

It bubbled inside of her, rising like a tide slowly overtaking the shore. And, for a brief moment, it touched, ever so gently, against some small, self-concerned part of herself. The same small knot of emotion that everyone learns to cradle, far, far away from the attention of their peers, lest they find out that each and every one of us desires some external validation; some confirmation of our worth without our egotistic biases.

_Somebody wants what _I _have learned. Somebody _values_ me_.

Pearl stared, feeling the sensation threaten to take control of her centers of speech and blurt out an acceptance to this... _human's_ unspoken request.

_But how much can I trust him?_

The thought fell upon her mind like a hurricane, tearing down the brief empire of warmth that the feeling had built in Pearl's head.

_Can a human really handle all this? Would he trade our knowledge- _my_ knowledge_\- _with anyone who bids him the right price? For a bigger house? A better car? Would he take up arms and wield our secrets to line his brief life with silver? Would he... lie to me?_

Pearl shook her head, clearing the confusion that threatened to fog her mind. With clarity, the Gem picked up the dissertation, placed it firmly in Alan's hands, and turned him around. "Here is your paper, sir. It gave me quite the afternoon's read, if I may say so myself. Please give Greg my regards and have a _pleasant_ evening."

With a gentle push out the door, Pearl removed a flustered and stammering Alan from the beach house and shut him outside. Sighing to herself, the Gem wandered to the temple and ambled wearily into her room. But, to Pearl's surprise, a vestigial thought had entered her room with her.

_It's not like I have to tell him absolutely _everything.

Pearl perked at the idea.

_His understanding, though based incorrectly, still holds _some_ semblance of being sound. At the very least, it can be built off of. I'll have to identify the elementary gaps of knowledge, but..._

She could still make something of Alan.

_And if anything's too dangerous, I'll just... withhold it!_

Pearl grinned to herself. _Let's see if we can't coax _something_ out of him._


	7. A Pleasant Talk In A Quiet Place

At the back of every person's mind- sleeping, lying dormant- is an inevitability. A quandary to their existence. A question that Pearl could never answer. What permanence can they offer to a world that only gives them a short hundred years to live? For most, the issue comes to their attention only when they realize that their days are, in fact, finite. And for every moment they do _not_ spend building something that can outlast them, they are one moment closer to disappearing. Traceless. An _inkling_ of a memory in a _sea_ of thoughts that will eventually fade.

But, despite their fragile existence, some humans manage to leave behind something... timeless. It was an astounding trait of theirs that always amazed Pearl. And it wasn't the ones who conquered nations or built empires or erected _anything_ to their own glory. Those waned with the will of the weather, or the sway of a people's hearts. No; it was the ones who found something _new_. A _single_ drop of insight into the vast sea of knowledge- the source from which all humans learn from and build off of- _that_ will last. At least, for as long as human civilization does.

Pearl frowned. She had never found out what causes some humans to wake from their mortal stupor and strive for something lasting. But what troubled her greater was that some Gems- no, _many_ Gems- never find out either. They steal the life out of any planet they happen upon, they tarnish it down to its warm core, and they move on. They erect fantastically complex feats of engineering and wisdom, and they watch them crumble into the sea. Because they can; because there's always another planet. There's always another bastion of life and warmth waiting for Gem control. And a legacy? What worth is a legacy when _all_ of time is laid out before you, waiting for you to act and think and create? No- many Gems never find a worthwhile calling. For themselves, or for each other.

_Except for you, Rose_.

Pearl sighed. Gems have a choice. They can _choose_ whether they want to spend their days on something as eternal as they are. Whether they _want_ to leave something behind. Humans? They are pushed to it. They must, or they disappear.

_I can still choose_, Pearl ruminated, making her way down the shoreline to Greg's car-wash. _For now, I guess I'll just... scout out the prospects_.

Pearl had made sure to leave the beach house that morning _precisely_ at nine fifty-five. That gave her _exactly_ five minutes to reach the car-wash, at which time it will be ten o'clock and the car wash will open for business.

_Then, as Alan's contractual obligation compels him to be on time for work, I will arrive _right_ when he does. A fool-proof plan!_

Pearl held her head high, preparing to revel in the moment when all the pieces of her self-arranged puzzle came perfectly together. But as she approached the car-wash, she heard a familiar pair of voices in the air. Both dismayed, both flailing in pitch and garbled syllables, but one noticeably more coarse and middle-aged. Pearl's brow furrowed as she prepared for the worst.

_Just how much danger can one encounter at an establishment that serves _no_ other purpose than cleaning vehicles?_

As she rounded the corner of the main building, Pearl stopped dead in her tracks. There, at the center of the car-wash's cracked pavement, was Alan. Soaking wet, very distressed, and wrestling with some sort of large, green serpent.

_No, wait- that's a hose._

A hose that was very angrily gushing water into the morning air, covering Alan, and everything around him, with a high-pressure deluge that the young physicist seemed hopeless against. Greg was standing a safe distance away, holding the sides of his head and glancing back and forth between Alan and the once-tame cleaning implement going wild in his hands.

"Woah! Hold on kid, help's comin'!" Greg bravely declared. He ran through Alan's morning shower to a spigot on the side of the main building. Then, gritting his teeth, he grabbed the valve and spun it has hard as he could.

...increasing the hose's flow dramatically and knocking Alan to the ground. Pearl watched the pair finally get the large, rubber tube under control, which involved a lot of panicked valve-twisting and a lot of Alan squirming around helplessly on the pavement. Pearl might have helped, but she knew she could not repair the damage that the scene had caused to her opinion of Alan.

_I... underestimated how fool-proof my plan would have to be,_ the spectating Gem concluded, making a mental note to factor Alan's morning commute, how early he intended to show up to work on average, and how much time she thought they would waste wrestling with cleaning equipment into her next batch of time-estimate calculations. Alan spent a couple of long, relatively peaceful seconds lying on his back on the pavement, as though he wasn't sure it was worth it to continue a day that was already going so poorly. Brow still furrowed, though now more in incredulity than concern, Pearl marched up to Alan and stared down at his soaked face.

"Good morning. Is... this a bad time?"

With a small yelp, Alan quickly righted himself and stood with a shaky, water-logged motion. "No! Nothing about this time is bad. Except for the, uh, hose... thing. That- that I guess you saw."

"Sorry about that, kid!" Greg waved sheepishly from across the pavement, spooling the hose into a messy pile next to its valve. Pearl sighed, slapping a hand to her brow.

"Yes, the hose thing. It was... _quite_ the feat."

Alan laughed nervously, trying as best he could not to touch himself with his cold, dripping clothes. "So, what can I help you with?"

_What _can_ you help me with?_

"I was wondering if we might discuss something."

Alan perked noticeably, splashing Pearl with a small drizzle of clothes-water that made her shiver. "I-is it about my paper?"

"That _quaint_ document that you formulated _is_ relevant to the topic at hand-"

"Then _yes_, we can _absolutely_ discuss something!"

Alan took a step, remembered that he was sopping wet, then gave Pearl an abashed look and ran for his closet. When he returned with a relatively dry outfit, Pearl was tapping her foot impatiently. "Okay, now I can speak without, you know... being covered in water."

Pearl nodded with half-interest. "That's great. But may we go somewhere less of a, um... car-wash?"

"I suppose- what did you have in mind?"

"Hmm," Pearl mused.

_Okay. To elicit the most natural response from him, I _should_ choose a location that he associates with meeting me. Thus far, we have met at three locations: Greg's car-wash, the beach house, and the library. As we are trying to _leave_ the car-wash, only two of those locations are valid. And, of the two, the one where we have encountered each other most frequently is the library. Therefore, to have the most _positive_ and _familiar_ influence on Alan, we must go to the library. Yes, this is a _sound_ plan!_

Pearl donned a sly, victorious grin, which Alan met with a tense, unsure smile.

"We're going to the _library_."

* * *

Pearl stepped methodically through a row of fresh, book-ladened shelves, neatly arranged and carrying a soft hint of new wood and varnish. The Gem smiled- such ordered organization and logical placement put her mind at ease. She was sure she had seen a lounge area the last time she visited, but, much to her regret, she hadn't taken note of the subjects proximal to it. More concerning, however, was how tense and jittery Alan was acting. Pearl shot a worried glance behind her. Alan was following several paces too far back, stopping very suddenly whenever Pearl as much as slowed down.

_Hm. I was _sure_ this place would make him feel more comfortable. What would Steven do in a predicament like this?_

"Alan, are you feeling out of place? You're acting as though you're in some measure of discomfort."

_Oh, that didn't really sound how I meant it to. How _has_ that little boy managed to figure all this out?_

"H-haha, discomfort? Me? Nooo..."

Pearl narrowed her eyes suspiciously. She halted mid-stride. Alan, predictably, stopped as well, almost tripping over his own feet.

_Oh no. Have I conditioned Alan to _fear_ me when I'm in the library?_

"I just don't want to bump into you. Again. And fall all over the place like, um, last time," Alan offered in explanation. "Or, you know, make you run away to take care of more dryers or... something."

Pearl felt heat rush to her cheeks. _I can't believe I thought that excuse would sound _valid_. No, wait, that isn't accurate. I _never_ believed it would sound valid, but I used it anyway and that's even worse._

"O-ho, yes, about that. Well, you _see_... I was, actually- how should I put this... _lying_," Pearl admitted, letting the last word catch on her tongue and slip slowly into the open air.

"Yeah! No, I mean, that's what I figured. I just didn't want to be _rude_ about it or anything."

_Would that be considered rude? I would have been the _first_ person to call _me _out if _I_ had said something like that to _me_. Hm. Which is probably the reason I'm having such a hard time _now_._

Pearl checked on her charge again. She found, to her relief, that he was following at a more typical distance behind her. His shoulders weren't as tensed up as they were earlier, and he was allowing himself to look at more than just the floor directly in front of his feet. Pearl congratulated herself, grinning and tilting her head up, just so, in victory.

_Ah, I see. By admitting my mistakes, I make myself seem more flawed and, thus, more approachable. Hah! See that, Steven? You're not the only one with social clout._

The Gem stopped abruptly when she noticed where they had wandered into. Before them was a collection of comfortable, single-body armchairs, adorning a small clearing in the forest of shelves surrounding the lounge. Before she could pick a chair to sit in- the cleanest one, if she could- Pearl felt something weak push against her back, followed by a quiet thud on the floor behind her.

_Again?_

Confirming her suspicions, Pearl turned around to find Alan sitting on the floor, dazed. With a sigh, she tentatively offered him a hand. "You know, perhaps you _should_ look where you're walking."

Alan stared at the extended limb, causing Pearl to raise an eyebrow in doubt.

_Was this the correct gesture? Maybe if I withdraw my hand I can still-_

"Thank you," Alan beamed, grabbing her hand. Pearl pulled him up with ease- like plucking a jacket off the floor- and, as soon as he was stable, very efficiently removed her hand from his.

_As long as his hand-using habits remain unknown to me, I _cannot_ assume that they are clean_, Pearl thought, shaking her fingers suspiciously. She took a seat in one of the chairs- the cleanest one, she made sure- and, following her cue, Alan claimed the one across from her.

_Alright. Now that we are in a comfortable, familiar place, a conversation may commence_.

The pair stared at each other, locked in a strange game of conversational chicken; Pearl, certain that a dialogue would spring naturally out of thin air at any moment and unwilling to break the delicate environmental balance she had crafted, and Alan, reluctant to speak on the off chance that Pearl hadn't started the conversation for a good reason.

_Hm. This isn't how this is supposed to go at all. I suppose I should start with some- what was it called- small talk?_

"So, Alan," Pearl probed, "where are you from?"

"Oh, I'm from around."

_That is _hardly_ specific enough to constitute appropriate small talk._

"Around...?" Pearl urged.

"Hm? Oh! Around the, uh... area?"

_Which area?_

"And that area would be...?" Pearl continued, raising an eyebrow.

"Delmarva?" Alan offered uncertainly, eliciting a nod from Pearl affirming that he had completed the chain of questions correctly.

"Oh! Delmarva! How wonderful. I, too, am from 'around,'" Pearl said, forming air quotes to qualify her use of the term 'around.'

It was Alan's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Around...?"

_Oh, how could that _possibly_ have been ambiguous? We have already defined 'around' as 'the area,' and 'the area' as 'Delmarva.' But, for the sake of common ground..._

"Around the area. The area of Delmarva."

"Then is 'around' where you're originally from?"

Pearl opened her mouth to begin proudly regaling him about the temple and the myriad places she'd been prior and the various distinct definitions of the concept 'originally from,' especially relative to where she was now, that she could base her answer off of. But, before a single, incriminating syllable could pass her lips, the Gem had a thought.

_I haven't decided how much to reveal to him._

Her mouth snapped shut, causing Alan to jump slightly in his chair.

_What was I _thinking_, I can't just tell him I'm from outer space! That is _far_ from a regular place to be from. But... if I'm going to be teaching him _anyway_, then does lying _now_ benefit anyone? He may not even believe me; he _may_ just try to 'not be rude.'_

With an unsure look, Pearl opened her mouth again. Then, remembering that she hadn't actually decided what to say, she closed it.

_If I start lying now- no, if I _keep_ lying now- what value does anything I say have? If he has to devote his mental faculties to filtering through what is true and what is false... just how much can I possibly teach him like _this_?_

She grew more concerned, a mental state that expressed itself in the furrow of her brow and the idle movement of her hands. Alan started an empathetic fidgeting, shifting about in his seat.

"If you don't want to talk about it, then- well, it's not like you _have_ to tell me or, you know, anything like... like that."

Pearl's eyes widened. _That's right; I _don't_ have to tell him everything, and I don't _have_ to lie to him. If... if he understands that, then maybe..._

"Why did you come here?"

Even as she said it, the question surprised Pearl. But even more surprising was the lack of delay in Alan's response. It was a response that would stay with Pearl for some time to come. And every time she looked at Alan, the twisting, interconnected modules of her memory would link her, if only ever so faintly, to the way he was at this very moment; the hushed intensity in his voice, the spark of excitement near imperceptibly widening his eyes, the genuine smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. And the words that formed from his lips.

"To discover something _fantastic_."

A hush fell over the pair. One that Pearl didn't want to break, lest she disturb the dusty, book-scented air that still carried the echo of his words. And one that Alan simply didn't know how to deal with, from a social perspective.

_Is this the person I want to entrust my knowledge to?_

Some small part of her, still grappling with Alan's response, gave her a decisive, enthusiastic affirmation. But the rest of her, grounded in wisdom, caution, and care for more than the fleeting emotions of the here-and-now, stayed her hand.

_No, this is something that deserves more than a minute's deliberation. Think, Pearl. You have all the time in the world._

Daring a glance at Alan, Pearl saw that he was back to looking at the ground and shifting about in his seat nervously.

_I have all the time in the world. But I _don't_ have to spend it doing _nothing_._

Pearl stood abruptly. To her slight amusement, Alan stood with her, not wanting to be left behind or commit some social faux-pas.

"W-wait," the flustered physicist stammered, "I- well, I thought we were going to be talking about my paper-"

"I said that it was _relevant_ to our discussion, not that it would be the centerpiece of it," Pearl said with an air of satisfaction at her own mastery of semantic exactness. "And it _was_ relevant. Now, I believe I-"

_Wait, nothing untrue._

"-wish to... leave. And so I will. Thank you for speaking with me-"

_What's a proper salutation for this situation? Oh, I'll just use his name. Surely that's personal enough without being too intrusive._

"-Alan."

"Oh, um, not a problem. It was... nice, Pearl."

As Pearl lead them out of the library, with Alan following even farther behind than before, a small smile spread across her face.

_Yes, tomorrow. Tomorrow, I can choose. No- tomorrow, I _get_ to choose._


	8. Pearl's Plan Involves Washing Cars

What drives anyone to greatness? What motivates them and excites them to act beyond the bounds of a secure, normal lifestyle? Pearl was sure that no human would sail across an unfamiliar ocean or leave the safe confines of their planet's atmosphere without a good reason. But just _what_ does a human consider a 'good' reason?

Was it wealth? Many an explorer had set out with their nation's blessing, basking in promises of golden cities and silver fountains on vast, unfamiliar shores. But what of those that didn't get rich? Those that worked themselves into _poverty_ for something they believed in?

Was it duty? Surely many an astronaut was compelled to launch themselves into space by some sense of responsibility, a vestigial function from their role as military personnel. But what of those outside of obligation? The ones without an organization to guide them?

Was it glory? How many have frantically chased some novel concept to get their name proudly stamped on an equation or theory? But still... what about those who passed on without ever seeing their name popularized? The van Goghs and the Teslas of the world?

Pearl rubbed her temples. And what of Alan? Just what made _Alan_ tick? What made him get up in the morning, wash cars all day, and look ever towards some eve discovery that he wasn't even sure was there?

_And, most importantly, just what can _I_ leverage to make him accept this... _preposterous_ proposition of mine?_

Pearl was, once again, spending her morning in search of Alan. Instead of voyaging to the car-wash, however, she was undergoing a journey to the Big Donut.

_Greg said that he sent Alan to get donuts. Is retrieving breakfast food for his employer one of his obligations as an attendant at the 'It's A Wash' car-wash? Perhaps he should have read his contract of employment more thoroughly._

For Pearl, the Big Donut was never the most appealing place. She imagined that the giant, cardboard pastry with metal struts adorning the roof must have seemed appetizing to the humans walking in its shadow. But, she was _not_ human. And that giant morning snack... _idol_ was quite unappetizing to Pearl.

"Good morning, miss Sadie. I am here for one bag of donuts."

Pearl perked at the voice.

_Is that Alan? He's _here_ already? And why am I so surprised? We traveled the same distance at different times, so of course _one_ of us would arrive prior to the other._

Nevertheless, Pearl flattened herself against the side of the pastry shop, just out of sight of its occupants.

"One bag of donuts it is, sir! And Sadie's fine. Just Sadie."

Alan chuckled. "Al-right, 'just Sadie.' By the way, may I ask you a question? Something of a, ah... social nature?"

"You can ask _me_ anytime! I've got all the _cards_, man."

_Ah. It's that lanky, derisive friend of Steven's. What cards could he possibly possess that would assist in such a matter?_

"Haha, yes, well... I suppose I can address the question to the both of you."

_Oh, well, if he has a question then _I_ am definitely the one most qualified to-_

"What does it mean when someone you just met takes you to a library, talks to you for ten minutes, then leaves?"

Pearl's breath caught in her throat. _Well, when you say it like _that_ then it sounds like my plan was _terrible_!_

"Probably that they like libraries?" Sadie said, accepting Alan's payment and placing a hefty bag of donuts on the counter.

"Probably that they're some weird book-lovin' weirdo or somethin' weird like that." Lars suggested, waving his arms about as though it would support the multiplicity of the word 'weird' in his sentence.

"Pearl's not _that_ 'weird.' Relatively speaking, of course. N-not in relation to you two or anything! Relative to... nothing. Nothing at all. Nevermind."

An odd silence fell over the donut shop. Curious, Pearl peeked her head around the front window. Lars and Sadie were giving each other wide-eyed sideways glances, and Alan was looking back and forth between the two in an attempt to decipher their cryptic, non-verbal communication.

"If it was Pearl, then... well, was it something _serious_?"

"Yeah man, just what the heck did one of those _gems_ want with ya?"

_It was _nothing_ serious! I _just_ wanted to... well, what _did_ I want? To interrogate him? To make sure he wasn't some... dunce? _

Alan opted to grab his bag of donuts and start backing towards the door instead of answering their questions. He did, however, have one parting query.

"Why do you keep calling them 'gems?'"

Lars started playing with the loose, overhanging tuft that he called his hair, struggling with the right response. Sadie, much more collected and prepared than her co-worker, lifted a knowing finger into the air, opened her mouth, and-

_W-wait, this isn't how this is supposed to go!_

Before she could directly intervene herself, Pearl heard a loud, happy voice pierce the morning air.

"Hey Pearl!"

The Gem turned her head. Standing behind her, an enormous grin on his face and both arms waving energetically, was-

"_Steven!_" Pearl hissed frantically, motioning for the boy to be quiet. But it was too late. To Pearl's chagrin, Lars, Sadie, and Alan were all staring at her. Hunched over, flattened against the wall, and _surely_ looking as ridiculous as she felt.

"Ugh," Pearl groaned, quickly straightening herself and bringing a defeated hand to her forehead. "Good _morning_ Lars, Sadie... _Alan_."

"Oh, hey there, Al-ca-traz!" Steven called enthusiastically, popping out from behind Pearl with both arms still waving.

"O-oh, haha- hello Steven. It's quite the, um, coincidence. Meeting you, that is. Here."

_No it's not, Steven comes here all the time._

"No it's not, I come here all the time!" Steven said, bouncing into the store.

Pearl tilted her head upward with a satisfied smirk. _See?_

"Pearl?" Alan questioned. "How long have you been there?"

_A second. Oh, no, that's implausible, he'd never believe that. A minute? But that's _more_ than enough time to have heard something. How about..._

Alan was waiting. He was expecting a response.

_...nothing untrue._

"I have been present since you gave Sadie that cordial morning greeting."

"Oh, I... see. How, um..." Alan trailed, eventually interrupting himself with a series of nervous coughs. "I should get these to Greg. Breakfast is, apparently, _very_ important to him."

"Those are for dad?" Steven asked, dashing the short distance between the door and Alan. "D'you think maybe I could bring those to him?"

Torn for the briefest of moments between his duty to complete Greg's assignment and the lively, undeniable youth in front of him, Alan relinquished the bag of donuts to Steven, who flashed him a thankful smile and went running out of the shop.

"W-wait, Steven, don't run with all of that- ugh- _breakfast dough._ You might get _hurt_!"

"Don't sweat it, Pearl; I know _all_ about running with breakfast dough," Steven assured, disappearing down the boardwalk towards the car-wash.

_How ridiculous, Steven_._ I doubt there exists an entire _discipline_ centered on running with bags of doughy circles._

Looking back into the shop, Pearl noticed that Alan was, for lack of a better word, stuck. Every time he took a step to leave, he would pause, examine the doorway, determine how small the gap was between Pearl and the door frame, and withdraw his foot to reformulate his exit strategy. It wasn't until Pearl cleared her throat in puzzlement at the odd ritual that Alan finally addressed her.

"Pearl! Yes, well, I need to head back to the car-wash and-"

"Oh, very well. I will accompany you."

"You will?" Alan asked. Pearl stepped back from the door to give him the confidence to leave the shop. "You will. Sure. Sure! Okay."

It was a sleepy morning, though the sun was already well on track to reach its zenith by noon. Most of the citizens of Beach City were either lounging in their shops or relaxing in their homes or in some other way absent from the boardwalk. The only others that Pearl and Alan encountered on the walk back were the Frymans, diligently manning Beach Citywalk Fries. Alan gave them a small wave, unsure of whether they actually knew each other yet or not. Pearl was about to echo his gesture when she came across a sight that forced her to stop. There, in front of the fry stand, in defiance of all notions of cleanliness and decency, was a donut. Upon closer inspection, Pearl made a horrifying revelation.

_It's not just a donut. It's _several_ donuts. All of them squished and- and dirt filled and- oh! As if food wasn't _disgusting_ enough without being _despoiled_ and _all over_ the _ground_!_

"Hello, miss! Would you like fries or any other potato-based dishes this morning?"

Pearl looked up at the greeting, accidentally subjecting the speaker to her repulsed gaze. It was young Peedee Fryman, who was now seriously reconsidering his decision to interrupt Pearl's morning. He forced a nervous smile. Then, seeing the mess of donuts on the boardwalk, he offered an explanation to try and abate Pearl's aghast expression.

"Ahah, yeah, so, Steven came running by here a couple o' minutes ago with a bag of donuts and sorta... fell. Sorry 'bout the mess, ma'am! I'll, um... I'll clean that up."

Peedee disappeared behind the fry stand. Looking back at the amalgam of sprinkles and filling and fried dough on the boardwalk, Pearl felt an imperfect mixture of annoyance and concern.

"Oh _Steven_," she chided at the donut pile, "I _told_ you not to run! Just _look_ at this mess. And that shirt is _going_ to need a _scrubbing_."

"Do you scrub his shirts often?" Alan asked

Pearl raised an eyebrow, continuing their trek down the boardwalk and almost leaving Alan behind.

_Do I what?_

"Oh! No, I- I meant do you take care of him often or... something like that."

_Do I take care of him?_

"That's practically _all_ I do. Though not _alone_ or anything. Steven has something of a... support net."

"So... you _are_ his aunt?"

_His _what_?!_

"N-no, nothing like that!" Pearl rushed to clear up the discrepancy. _By very _definition_ of the term 'aunt,' in no way may I be considered one. We're not even _related_!_

"Then, what are you?"

The question gave Pearl pause. Not physical pause, as she was sure that they had wasted enough time on their little donut trip. But still, the Gem fell silent.

_I... take care of him. I'm responsible for him. I have to make sure he grows up safe and strong and _knowledgeable_. But, what am I?_

"That's a more common question in Beach City than you realize, Alan," Pearl said with a smirk. "So congratulations! You're fitting _right_ in."

_I'm just his... Pearl. And he's my Steven. So I have to be a _good_ Pearl._

She glanced over at Alan, who was hiding his face by staring at the open shore.

_Right. That's why I'm doing this. Well, not the _only_ why, but one of the whys. _

Pearl took in a large breath of air. When she exhaled, it was with a new sense of determination.

* * *

Pearl and Alan arrived at the car-wash in the midst of the Universe's family breakfast. Which, to Pearl, unsurprisingly, looked absolutely ridiculous. Greg was sitting atop his van, the bag of squished donuts in his hands and a wide, wide grin on his face. Steven, smiling just as large, was standing in the main driveway, trying to chew his way through the contents of his mouth as fast as he could.

"Four!" Greg yelled, throwing a donut into the air. Steven swallowed hastily and, laughing the whole way, ran after the flying, compressed disc of fried dough and sugar.

"Ready or not, pal, here comes the next!" Greg declared, digging through the donut bag for his next projectile.

"_Greg!_" Pearl protested, catching the man's attention mid-donut-fling. "If Steven's going to _eat_, then he at _least_ needs to _chew!_"

Throwing a hand sheepishly behind his head, Greg issued a couple of apologetic chuckles and jumped off of the van. "Sorry, Pearl. The boy brought me these new _flat_ donuts that they're sellin' and I just _had_ to throw 'em! Ya know?"

_Never have I had a compulsion even _nearly_ similar to that._

"Yes, well. That's... great, Greg. But, having Steven _run around_ and _swallow food_ as quickly as possible? Couldn't you think of a less _deadly_ method of satisfying your yearning for _flat donut tossing_?"

"Aw, don't be so hard on him, Pearl," Steven interrupted, running in between the two. "We were just playin' a game!"

_Hm. Well, apparently, if I'm _not_ hard on him, Steven, then you are allowed to consume breakfast in the most _dangerous_ fashion you two can imagine. But, if you're that bothered by it..._

"Oh! By the way Alan," Greg said, addressing the young physicist who was, at current, trying to keep himself as distant as possible from the familial conflict taking place before him, "I'm helpin' Steven out with play stuff today. You mind tendin' the shop?"

"Of course not, mist- ah, no. Greg. Of course not, Greg."

"Atta' guy! Thanks a lot, man. We'll be by the beach if ya need anythin'."

"Awesome!" Steven said, punctuating his father's sentiment. "We're gonna build the _stage_ today. Just you wait, Pearl! It'll be the _best_ performance venue you've _ever seen!_"

"Well then, I certainly look forward to seeing it," Pearl replied with a smile, waving the two goodbye. _They're just going to re-use that stage we had for Beach-a-Palooza, aren't they? _

Pearl glanced around for Alan, who, to her surprise, was already hard at work. Or, as hard at work as one could be at a car-wash in which there were no cars. With a clipboard in hand, Alan was walking through the cleaning equipment lying about outside, straightening a bucket or a hose every once in a while and jotting down little status notes. To her amusement, Pearl noticed that, after looking over each group of supplies, Alan would grin, ever so briefly, and write a small check mark somewhere on his sheet with a quick flourish of his pen.

_Well, at least he's organized_, Pearl noted, _and I _will_ admit to understanding the satisfaction of checking items off a list._

As Alan disappeared into the main wash, a plan started to form in Pearl's head.

_If he is expected to run the car-wash _without_ Greg, then perhaps he would appreciate some assistance? Yes! Definitely. Who wouldn't want their professional burden eased for a day- for free, nonetheless? And it's not as though this were a terribly involved occupation. Yes, this is a _sound_ plan! I'll help him, his impression of me will become more favorable, and the stage will be set for my inevitable victory when I convince him to learn under me._

Pearl grinned, donning a satisfactory head-tilt at the self-perceived brilliance of her own plan. When Alan emerged from the main wash, nodding to himself and mumbling something about soap levels, Pearl sprung her offer.

"Alan! Oh, no- don't flinch, I'm not going to knock you down. Actually, I was _wondering_ if you, perhaps, required some assistance? Not that I'm implying you're _incompetent_ in any way, I'm sure you are quite... skilled? At, um, cleaning vehicles. But... well, who _couldn't_ use some help every once in a while, right? Right. Of course I'm right. So... yes. Let me help you."

Alan held his clipboard close to his chest, as though it were the only thing anchoring him down in the wake of Pearl's offer. Blinking rapidly to himself, he seemed to finally grasp what Pearl was saying. "You... want to help?"

"Yes!" Pearl said. _Really Alan, what did I _just_ say? At least twice? Perhaps _thrice_?_

"Oh. Well, that's very nice of you. As long as you're okay with it-"

"And I am. Assuredly."

"Haha, yes, um... alright. We don't really, you know, _do _anything unless a car comes around, so... let me grab you a chair."

The two situated themselves near the entrance of the main office; Pearl, positioning herself optimally such that no car would enter the premises without her noticing, and Alan, trying his hardest not to sit an impolite distance from Pearl.

"So, how do you know Greg?" Alan wondered. The question was asked innocently, but Pearl swallowed uncomfortably at the range of possible answers.

_As long as it's not a lie... I don't have to reveal the _whole_ truth._

"A... dear friend of mine was his wife."

"Oh! He has a wife? I haven't seen her around. Is she...?"

Silence. A noticeable absence from the conversational norm. Alan glanced at Pearl, but one look and it was obvious that the verbal response was never coming.

"I'm sorry," Alan concluded.

"It's..." Pearl trailed off with a sigh. _Okay? Of course it's not okay. But... it's not like she left us here with nothing. We have a mission. A reason to act. And..._

"At least we have Steven."

Alan shifted in his seat, regretting the topic of conversation he had stumbled into. Noticing his distress, Pearl waved off the imagined slight and started in on a new subject.

_He seemed to enjoy speaking of his point of study. Despite how... misguided it is, it _should_ still elicit a positive response._

"So... what motivated you to look into superluminal communication?"

Alan perked almost instantly at the question. "What _wouldn't_? The entire _world_ is inexorably connected, in _constant_ communique with itself at every _hour_ of every _day_ in every city, state, country, and continent! But _always_ we are shackled by the constraints of classical communication; for every kilometer of optical cable we _surrender_ five microseconds. In every round-trip satellite packet we _resign_ five-hundred milliseconds. And that's not even mentioning the queuing and processing delays! But I shouldn't get ahead of myself; those last two aren't part of the set of physical limitations that can be addressed."

Pearl was drawn in by his enthusiasm. It was very familiar- the hushed intensity, the spark in his eyes, the upturned corners of his mouth. And it reminded her of a couple of arm chairs, and a small, quiet clearing, surrounded by books.

"That's why we looked to quantum teleportation in our work," Alan continued. "With it, we just _might_ be able to surpass the limits of classical communication and reach something superluminal."

Pearl smirked. _Oh, yes. _I_ remember this. 'Quantum' teleportation... pf-hah! I shouldn't damped his enthusiasm, but..._

"But even if you _do_ manage to consistently create photonic pairs that exhibit 'quantum entanglement,'" Pearl began, stopping herself from making air quotes at the term quantum entanglement, "you still need to transport one of those photons through a huma- ahem, I mean, a 'classical' communication channel for the recipient to read it. Don't you find that... inhibitory?"

"Yes," Alan said, sinking deeper into his beat-up lawn chair. "But that's the reason this study proposed a series of entangled photonic nodes. One half of each pair would sit, semi-statically, at each end of a communication link, be it end-to-end or through some series of relays. Then, a qubit at _one_ entangled end would _instantly_ emerge as the _same_ qubit at the _other_ entangled end!"

Pearl smiled. Not a smirk, as before, but a smile. The same smile that you get when you introduce one of your favorite movies to someone and you get close to the good part. The same smile that you get when you walk through your hometown with a friend and reach an old, familiar landmark. "But...?" Pearl urged, knowing the logical thread had yet to reach its end.

"But..." Alan trailed, sighing and slouching even further into his chair. "We never found a way to induce quantum entanglement between pairs of _anything_ at such a distance. It was..."

Alan's expression took a dour turn. It was only there for a fraction of a second, but Pearl caught it. It sucked all of the excitement out of his eyes and pulled them down, spiraling his entire face into a grimace. But only for a fraction of a second.

"...inconclusive," Alan finished. Though Pearl knew that it wasn't what he was _going_ to say. Still, she took some satisfaction in knowing what sort of direction Alan needed.

_You're going about this like a runner with all of his limbs tied together. Of _course_ you'll never find the solution when you constrain yourself to a _single_ dimension! But... let's save that for another time._

One question still bothered Pearl. One that she suspected would continue bothering her, even if she did glean some semblance of a response from Alan. Regardless, she asked.

"Why bother?"

Alan blinked at the question in confusion, prompting Pearl to continue.

"You spend a considerable portion of your life on one issue; one question, one field of study. You toil at it _so_ _much_ that it becomes an irremovable _facet_ of your personality. And you never reach a conclusion. But, here you are- _still_ searching, like a moth hitting its head over and over again on an unattainable source of illumination. So... why? Why are you here, hitting your head when you're not even sure it's the right light?"

"It's..." Alan began. Pearl leaned forward.

_Oh! Does he _actually_ have something to say on the matter? Has he thought about it as much as I have?_

"...not really something I've thought about," he concluded, much to Pearl's very visible disappointment. Seeing her disapproval, Alan quickly moved to correct himself.

"N-not that this stuff isn't important to me! It just... feels like what I should be doing, you know? Something I _should_ be working towards. Besides, it's fun," he said, leaning his head back. "I still remember all the late nights at the lab. Working with people as dedicated to the same problems as you are... it's nice."

Pearl thought of her fellow Crystal Gems and the long duty they shared. _It _is_ nice._

Before she could press the subject further, Pearl heard the distinct crackle of rubber-on-asphalt. A car was pulling into the wash, and the owner was rolling down his windows and glancing about to find someone to talk to. Standing with an air of professionalism, Pearl approached the vehicle.

_Okay, Pearl. Time to show Alan the meaning of unsolicited assistance._

* * *

It was the end of a fruitful day of car-washing, and Pearl felt satisfied . An undue reign of organization was upon the small business- one that Pearl was certain had never been seen under the auspices of its true owner, Greg. The buckets, hoses, squeegees, and vacuums that were kept outside during the day were laid out in individual, neatly taped-off quadrants, easily accessible from any car and by any employee. A sign detailing time estimates for several vehicle size-classes, calculated by Pearl herself, hung in front of the main wash. And, of particular pride to Pearl, the computer in the main office was now automatically tracking water and cleaning formula usage per car, displaying the net profit for each vehicle as it rolled out of the car-wash. The Gem held her head high.

_Not only have I organized this terrible mess that Greg calls a business, but I also got to _clean_! Haha! _All day_! And people _paid_ us for it! Well, not _me_, but they paid Greg and Greg pays Alan. Thus, _my_ cleaning secured Alan's funding. A win-win-win!_

Alan was finishing his shift by running around between each station with his clip-board. Pearl grinned. Surely there were more efficient ways to maintain the status of the car-wash's supplies, but...

_He seems to like it_.

He finished his rounds by walking up to Pearl and giving her a small salute. "Everything's accounted for. And, I know I've said it, but... thanks. For, um, all the car-wash stuff you've done. Today. I don't think I've ever worked with such... efficiency here. N-not that I've been here that long, and one can expect that Greg would _eventually_ have a very efficient day, but- yeah. Thank you, Pearl."

Pearl gleamed at the admiration. "No need to thank me. Just consider it a favor."

_Not that the thanks were bad or anything. In fact, they were quite gratifying._

Remembering her goal, Pearl slipped the off her pair of industrial rubber gloves and dropped them- very neatly- into a nearby bucket. "Alan. Now that we have a moment, I have something of a... proposition for you."

_These next few turns of conversation will decide the fate of my _entire_ plan. Oh, but how should I convince him? Maybe if I lay out each _positive_ point of my argument as it pertains to him, it will be compelling enough evidence that he _has_ to accept. Hm. Despite how logical that sounds, it also doesn't sound like it will work at all._

Pearl waited for a response. And waited. And with each passing second, it became more obvious to her that Alan hadn't heard what she said. Instead, he was staring towards the shore, clipboard in one hand, pen lying still in the other, and gaze as distant as the day was long. Pearl sighed.

_There's so much I can show you. You just... have to give me a chance. But don't you _want_ that chance? Aren't you here looking for something?_

"You wonder what else is out there, don't you?" Pearl asked. Alan was still staring away, but his head turned ever slightly towards her. "What truths there are to uncover? What mysteries to bring bare?"

"Do you?" he asked in return.

She didn't have to wonder; she'd been there.

_No, that's something a different Gem would think. I've been to so many places, seen so much. But there's _always_ something more. Something else to find._

"The truth is... I've been out there." The confession caused Alan to tear his gaze away from the shore and stare, wide-eyed, surprised, and with just the right amount of skepticism, at Pearl. "Not 'there' in the _physical_ sense like there's some _storeroom_ of questions and answers that I frequent. But- out there. Where nobody else's intellectual exploration has taken them on this little planet. I've seen how endless the mysteries of the universe can be- I've even _unraveled_ some of them. But, for as much as I know, I've only taken a small _sip_ of the _boundless_ depths of verity just _waiting_ for us to quench ourselves. I've been out there. And I have decided, Alan, that it is something that I want to share."

Alan was taken aback. Pearl could tell- she'd been taken aback before, and the expression was clear as day on someone as inefficient at masking emotions as Alan. She decided that the best thing to do would be to continue, to ward off any reservations he might have.

"Will you be-"

_Oh, what's the proper term. Nothing so _servile_ as 'subordinate' or 'assistant.' But it can't be some juvenile title like 'pupil,' or something that implies unhealthy devotion like 'disciple.' Ah! I know._

"-my apprentice, Alan?"

"I-"

"Wait," Pearl interrupted, "before you decide-"

_There are conditions to this agreement that he needs to be aware of._

"I... can't reveal _everything_ to you. And there are times when I will choose _not_ to. There are things that I _can't_ tell you. Are you okay with that?"

"Yes, I under-"

"And there are things that you _can't_ tell others. No matter how much you want to shout them at the top of every hill, mountain, and cliffside. Are you okay with _that_?"

Alan sighed. A look of apprehension. Pearl started to worry. _Is this the deal-breaker? Publishing his findings _must_ be important to him, but... there are some things that the rest of the world shouldn't know._

Finally, Alan spoke again, relieving both parties of their tension. "Yes. There are things you can't tell me, and there are things I can't tell anyone. I... I understand. It's a... price. But, for this...?"

Alan turned in place, stepping neatly so that he was exactly facing Pearl. His shoes clapped together. His arms fell to his sides. His eyes turned downwards, almost closing. Then, he bowed, leaning forward until the interior angle between his torso and his legs was almost exactly forty-five degrees. "I would be _honored_ to be your apprentice, Pearl."

_Hm! I didn't know he was so... old fashioned!_ Pearl thought, returning the gesture with as much formality as she could remember._ What a refreshing attribute in a student. No- in an _apprentice.

As they both straightened from their bows, Pearl took on an expression that could only be described as giddy. A smile broke out on her face, her eyes were scrunched up like she was laughing, and, if she hadn't the presence of mind to remember where she was and who she was in front of, she would have thrown her arms into the air and jumped, at least once, in achievement.

_T-this is... yes! I- haha, I did it! An _apprentice_! Hahah! I feel like one of the old _masters_ from way back!_

Alan, much more reserved in his excitement, didn't quite look so jubilant as Pearl. But Pearl caught the look that slipped onto his face. The spark in his eyes, the small smile. And it made her even more confident in her decision. She still wasn't entirely sure what motivated Alan- what made him wade through her restrictions and grab the opportunity she presented him. But she took some solace in the fact that, whatever it was, Alan was just as hard pressed to point it out. And, whatever it was, it was a common thread between the two.

_Something about the unknown, the _should_-be-known, pushes us. _

Pearl's smile softened, losing its excitement but keeping all of its warmth. Her new apprentice was now busying himself with cleaning up all of the outdoor equipment, stumbling over a hose or two and dropping a bucket here and there. Still, she stayed smiling.

_And between the two of us, I'm sure we can figure something out._


	9. Electricity And Magnetism, For Kids!

Pearl was nervous.

Not for herself, of course- with the amount of rehearsal she had poured into her role, it was inconceivable to her that she would make even a _single_ mistake. But, looking around at her present company, she started having... doubts. It was the night of the play- the one that Steven had so painstakingly prepared- and all four of the Crystal Gems were assembled backstage. The murmur of an unseen crowd gathering for their performance drifted from the other side of the flimsy wall of cardboard they were calling a 'backdrop.' Greg was with them, having volunteered, with no small amount of pride, to run sound and lighting. But, at the moment, he was trying to fit a blue sphere of cardboard adorned with a minus sign over Steven's head. Both of the Universes were struggling with the endeavor; Steven because he couldn't see through the cardboard covering his face, and Greg because Steven wouldn't keep still. Amethyst, who was snug inside her own red, cardboard sphere, was leaning with a mischievous little grin against one of the stage's supports. An action that Pearl wasn't entirely sure was safe, given the stage's questionable structural integrity.

_Did she even rehearse her lines? And that smile- oh, she better not be planning anything disruptive!_

Fussing about with the microphone in her grasp, Pearl jumped slightly when she felt a hand on her shoulder. A large, firm, reassuring hand.

"Don' worry so much. They'll be fine."

Pearl released a tense breath she didn't know she was holding. Her entire body soon followed suit, loosening up considerably and making her feel much less like a towel someone had twisted up and pulled taught. Shaking out her limbs to get the last drops of stress out of them, the Gem threw a thankful, though still slightly worried, smile over her shoulder.

"Thanks, Garnet. We should get started soon, shouldn't we?"

With a simple nod, Garnet removed her hand and straightened the over-sized magnet that was sitting snugly over her hair. Then, she disappeared into the dark space underneath the stage. Pearl took the chance to initiate a calming series of breaths. Then, hearing a small 'pop!' and the sound of cardboard ruffling clothes, Pearl turned to Greg and gave him a hurried series of hand signals that she thought for sure meant 'go start the opening sequence of the show.' Greg, in return, stared at her blankly for a few seconds. Then, when Steven waddled past him with his arms sticking straight out of his stiff costume, Greg snapped his fingers in realization and jogged over to the light and sound board.

_The one he keeps _bragging_ is his own 'custom job.' Or, whatever terminology he used._

Pearl slipped her way to the right wing of the stage and scanned the audience, waiting for the main lights to come on. She could still feel a flutter of apprehension, which had worked its way into her hands in the form of a slight tremble. Grasping the microphone tighter, Pearl resolved to keep her idle mind from worrying by analyzing her audience.

_Hm. Seems that the whole town is here, regardless of how... underwhelming the population is. Lars, Sadie, the mayor's son, those Pizza girls- _quite_ the youth turnout. And- oh! I see Steven invited the Maheswarans. Connie looks rather excited for this educational play. What a refreshingly intellectual young girl! Though I suppose she could just be giddy to see her friend bounce around on stage and be ridiculous. Let's see... the Frymans? Oh, I hope the youngest Fryman isn't _too_ upset about the other day. I didn't mean to glare at him like that, it was just- ugh, those _donuts_! Huh, looks like the mayor showed up, too. Though, on second thought, of course he'd be here. It's not like he has _that_ much of a town to run. And there, in the back... is that-?_

A pre-recorded drum roll interrupted Pearl's thoughts. She straightened herself, looking for the tell-tale signal that her first line was due.

_Okay. Enter stage right, pivot, address the audience, introduce the play. This is it, Pearl; the opening moments of any performance establish its reputation. And I _will _have a reputable performance._

With the crash of a symbol, the main lights rose and illuminated the haphazard background that the entire play would be set against. It was- or, rather, was _supposed_ to be- a night sky, filled in dark blue paint with uneven, very visible splotches and nonuniform brush strokes. Bright yellow stars were scattered about the scene, sharing the same hue and intensity as the star on Steven's shirt.

Taking one last, deep breath, Pearl entered, stage right. Poised proudly and properly, stepping with grace and efficiency, the Gem took center stage. With a light tap on the wood flooring, she pivoted to face the audience. Then, with a smooth, practiced motion, she raised the microphone to a precise, calculated spot in front of her mouth.

"Ladies, gentlemen, and Onion! I _welcome_ you!"

The audience tittered apprehensively at the joke, unsure how amused they were permitted to be at this stage of the performance. Through the glare of the stage lights, Pearl could just barely make out Onion on his father's shoulders, staring blankly at her.

_Well, don't look at _me_. It was Steven's idea._

"Tonight, we shall regale you with a tale. One both _intriguing_-"

_Pause for effect-_

"-and _informative_. A story of _attraction_ and _separation_. Of _forces_ and _fields_. My dear audience. It is my pleasure to present to you..."

Pearl took a large step upstage, preparing for her co-stars' scheduled entrances.

"_Charged With Attraction!_" With the title announced, the lights above Pearl dimmed, leaving the entire stage dark save for two spotlights pointed at either end. From stage right, the black, curly tufts of Steven's hair popped into view. Then, reacting to a very obvious push from behind, the rest of Steven stumbled onto the stage, eliciting a small spattering of chuckles from the audience.

"Greet our young hero, audience-"

"Hey, Steven!" the crowd yelled in near-unison, causing the boy in question to bring an arm to the back of his head abashedly.

_Well of course I didn't mean _actually_ greet him. Oh, why must they be so compliant?_

"He is known as Electron in his neck of the universe-"

"Yeah, of the _Steven_ Universe!"

Pearl stumbled with the rest of her line. When she glared out into the small gathering to the find the offender, she saw Sadie her with hands cupped incriminatingly around her mouth and the people around her laughing quietly to themselves.

_S-Sadie?! You're the _last_ one I expected to-! No, we mustn't get distracted._

"-and he's quite the _negative_ fellow," Pearl continued. On cue, Steven crossed his arms- as best as he could in his bulky outfit- and attempted to scowl. The act drew a scattered 'Aw!' from the audience, as well as one or two from backstage.

_Oh Steven, you're just too _adorable_ to look negative._

"But he is not alone on this warm night. For you see, dear audience, there is another. One to whom young Electron is inexplicably connected."

Amethyst popped her head out of the right wing of the stage, causing both Pearl and Steven to turn _their_ heads in surprise.

_Amethyst! Stage left!_

With a series of frantic eye-motions, Pearl successfully communicated Amethyst's mistake to her. Making a silent 'oh' shape with her mouth, the purple Gem ran, very noisily, to the left wing and sauntered into the spotlight. Small bits of laughter combined to form a gentle, collaborative giggle from the audience.

"This night, Proton happened to be wandering through Electron's local space. Upon nearing each other, they felt something that they could _not_ resist. A mutual electrostatic attraction; one born from their elementary charges."

_Of equal magnitude and opposite sign, of course._

"My _looove_ for that Electron's makin' me move," Amethyst coo'd, beginning an extravagant, slow-motion run towards Steven with her spotlight in tow.

"Yeah! Mine too!" Steven laughed. He took on a thespian's air and held his hand out dramatically, starting his own spotlight-trailed slow-motion run. "Oh _Proton_, you're the only one for me."

"Oh _Electron_, my old childhood friend from whom I have been _separated_ for _twenty_ _long years_!" Amethyst continued, throwing a slow-motion hand over her heart.

_Wait- that's not in the script. Unless..._

"Proton, my _old crush_! Any time apart from you is time _too_ _much_ for my subatomic heart!"

A wave of cheers and hoots issued from the crowd, with the sole exception of Connie, who was standing on her tip-toes and yelling "don't do it, Electron!"

_T-they changed their lines! Without informing me! Oh _Steven_..._

Pearl allowed herself to fume in place for a split second. Then, recomposing herself, she picked up where Steven and Amethyst had presumably left off. "But wait, audience! All is not well for Electron and Proton. For, unknown to either of them, there is a _third_ presence here tonight."

With a loud crack, a shower of splinters, a new spotlight, and a surprised yell from the audience, Garnet burst through the floor of the stage.

_Hm. Those weren't the breakable boards Greg installed._

Garnet landed with her hands on her hips, facing Pearl with a small smile. Pearl slapped her own forehead with a quiet 'ugh,' drawing a confused look from the large Gem before her.

"Oh, righ'." With a stage-shaking stomp, Garnet turned around to face the audience. "I am a _magnetic field_!" she announced loudly, pounding her fists together with a resounding thump.

"Oh _no_!" Pearl exclaimed in mock fright, "those charged particles are moving with a magnetic field facing forwards! Which_ever_ direction will Electron and Proton be forced?"

"_Forward!_" a voice called excitedly from the audience.

Pearl smirked. _Not quite, Mr. Maheswaran_.

"Oh, of course not, dear. It's _up_," a steadier female voice corrected.

Pearl's smirk turned into a satisfied smile. _Very _good_, Dr. Maheswaran!_

"Yeah! Up! Up! _Up_!" Connie chanted happily. The sentiment spread quickly through the small audience until they were all contributing to the chant, each of them raising their hands into the air with each 'Up!' that was collectively yelled. Garnet scanned the crowd with an unreadable expression. Then, without warning, reserve, or _any_ prior planning, the Gem slammed the stage with an open palm, sending her fellow performers tumbling into the air.

They say that time slows down during moments of sufficient duress. Pearl knew that wasn't entirely true; the phenomenon of time dilation occurs when a large amount of data is committed to memory over a relatively short duration, extending the moment temporally on reflection. But in that moment, the air seemed to hold Pearl longer than it should have. And in that extra time, Pearl took the opportunity to look at her fellow Gems, trapped in the stasis of their mutually duress-filled moment. Steven had on an unsurprisingly surprised face; mouth wide, eyes staring blankly in front of him, and one eyebrow raised in question. Amethyst looked like she was about to break out into laughter, though her body language suggested that she was bracing for impact. Garnet was as unreadable as when the ordeal began, though it _seemed_ like she was monitoring Steven's progress through the air. It was always hard to tell, what with her glasses and all. And finally, in the dim reflection of an inactive stage light, Pearl saw herself. Annoyed, straight as a board, and very much upside-down.

All three landed with varying degrees of grace. Steven, surprisingly, landed directly on his feet, though through no effort of his own aside from the liberal application of pure luck. Amethyst plopped down sideways, rolling a short distance downstage until she caught herself with one arm and flipped upright. And Pearl, the least prepared and the most unamused, was propped upside-down against the backdrop. She stared at Garnet for answers, who shrugged her shoulders unhelpfully.

"Sorry Pea'l. I panicked. Tha' crowd was too demandin'."

Pearl struggled upright, ignoring the urge to say something _very_ rude to her friend. But before she could wrest control of the situation from the grip of disorder, Amethyst very loudly took center stage.

"You see that, Electron? That field's _never_ gonna let us be together! There's only _one_ solution."

To Pearl's dismay, the purple Gem leaped over the backdrop and disappeared.

_W-wait, she doesn't have an exit until the end of the play! And it's _supposed_ to be stage right!_

A purple flash of Amethyst-colored light plumed from backstage. But what jumped back on stage wasn't Amethyst. Well, Pearl was sure that it _was_ Amethyst, having known her for so long. But she looked _much_ more like-

"Pur-ple Pu-ma!" Lars screamed from the audience, jumping up and down in his uneven, lanky way. His excitement caught Sadie, whose excitement then caught Kiki and Jenny. And so it spread, bouncing from person to person, until everyone joined Lars in whooping for their favorite Beach City underground wrestling champion.

"We gotta _wrastle!_" Amethyst declared with a growl.

"Oh, right!" Steven said, pulling his cardboard sphere over his head. After a short series of hurried arm movements within the secrecy of his sphere, Steven threw his costume off. But what appeared on stage wasn't Steven. Well, Pearl was sure that it _was_ Steven, having known him for so long. But he looked _much_ more like-

"Ti-ger Mi-lli-o-naire!" Lars yelled, getting louder with each frantic syllable. This time, the crowd was prepared to greet a Beach City wrestler. And, with as resounding a cheer as their small population could manage, they did so. Steven shook his pink suitcase in front of him, laughing as bourgeois as he could to their applause.

_Is _that_ why it took so long to get his costume on? He was holding all that... _nonsense_ in there?!_

"C'mon lil' tiger, let's _get _her!"

Amethyst sprang into the air with a giant smile, hollering into the open night. To the great delight of the crowd, and to the notable disapproval of Pearl, the Purple Puma came down on Garnet knees-first and wailing. Without moving so much as an arm, Garnet caught the descending purple hunk like she was stopping an errant paper airplane. Then, still moving nothing more than the same arm, she tossed Amethyst straight upwards. And thus, the Purple Puma disappeared.

"Revenge!" Steven shouted, running towards Garnet in the wake of his partner's defeat. Closing the last few feet with a large, overly-dramatic leap, Steven planted his feet, threw his suitcase aside, and began swinging at the large Gem.

_Hm. I guess Garnet's training really _is_ paying off. He's keeping his eyes open, staying steady, putting his weight behind each strike, recovering to a controlled, neutral position- it's like Steven _actually_ has a grasp on very basic combat technique._

Garnet blocked Steven's slow punches with the back of her fist, still refusing to turn away from the crowd. Then, very good-naturedly, the Gem let one blow tap gently against her leg.

"Oh no, I am defea'ed."

Garnet tipped slowly, falling to one side while somehow maintaining her posture. Shortly after, Amethyst returned from her exile into the night sky, plummeting straight down above Garnet. The stoic Gem- exhibiting the same paper airplane-style ease as before- caught her falling friend with an outstretched arm and set her gently on the stage.

"Whooo, thanks Big G," Amethyst whispered. She recovered to a victorious standing pose, grabbing Steven's hand on her way up. He dangled in the air just as victoriously, throwing his arms and legs out and soaking in the crowd's wild cheers. Both of the not-so subtle wrestling personas glanced over their shoulders, waiting for the narrator's official contribution to the events that just transpired in what was once Pearl's carefully planned play.

_I-if they think I'm going to condone this sort of... _reckless_ deviation from _all_ of our preparation then-! Then... oh, but Steven looks so happy. And I guess this isn't the most _preposterous_ thing Amethyst has done. And Garnet seems to be on board with it, too. Hmm. I guess I can..._

Pearl hoisted her microphone back up, spreading out her stance in a much more referee-like fashion. "A- and thus the... the magnetic field was, um- was _defeated_! Haha! Yes! She _forgot_ that a magnetic field can do _no work_ on an isolated charge and, so, Electron and Proton could not be stopped from meeting!"

_Well, it _would _change the direction of their velocity such that their trajectories would resemble a helix, which _probably_ would have interrupted their meeting, but... that doesn't sound particularly in line with our enhanced narrative. I suppose I should just... end the play here?_

Pearl stepped back into the light of center stage, eyes closed and arm gesturing towards the Gems gloating in fictional triumph. And, of course, the Gem lying in fictional defeat. "And so ends our tale of Proton and Electron. Who were _apparently_, ahem... Purple Puma and Tiger Millionaire. Masquerading. As subatomic particles."

The crowd rose in another jubilant cheer, causing the wrestlers in question to wave their limbs about more energetically. Pearl stopped herself from slapping her forehead again. _Ugh, those _ridiculous_ names... but I suppose one exasperated forehead slap is sufficient for the night_.

"Thank you for watching, dear audience! And always remember, electrons are negative, protons are positive, opposite charges attract, and the force on a charged particle moving through a magnetic field in which a non-zero component of the particle's velocity is perpendicular to the direction of the field is perpendicular to _both_ of those vectors! Have a _wonderful_ night, audience!"

All four Gems managed to form a straight line on stage. Hands clasped, they raised their arms in unison. Then, they brought them down with a large bow, bringing the stage lights down with them and exciting the audience into one last, parting wave of cheering and ovation. The four scurried off-stage, removing their costumes- or shape-shifting back to their normal forms- before they had to walk out and met their adoring public. As they walked the flimsy, wooden staircase leading down the stage, Pearl felt a small, familiar hand grab hers.

"Thank you _so much_, Pearl!" Steven beamed, staring up at her with stars in his eyes. "I know we didn't tell you we were gonna do that because we, um... didn't know how you would handle it. B-but you just _ran_ with it! And you even made it _educational_, right 'till the end!"

Pearl sighed, closing her hands around Steven's in return. "Oh, Steven. It was _my_ pleasure. But, next time, you really _should_ tell me." Steven nodded enthusiastically, giving her one last thank-you hug before running off to talk excitedly with Connie.

_Going off script is _not_ my favorite activity. And it's not like I would have outright _denied_ a request to introduce a wrestling scene into this... educational children's play. Hm. I see your point, Steven. Well played._

Pearl wandered about the edge of the crowd, all of whom were swarming Garnet, Amethyst, Steven, and even Greg with congratulatory pats and yells and laughing gestures. Pearl even got a high-five from Kiki Pizza, which the Gem was _certain_ was just going to be a slap until her open-palmed blocking hand received the brunt of the blow. Through the excited clamor of the freshly entertained Beach City populace, Pearl heard a peculiar sentence touch, very barely, on the edges of her aural perception.

"Haha, yeah! These actin' skills are gonna be _great_ for Steven when he starts school on Monday!"

_Hm?_

Pearl peered into the clump of people, spotting one balding, long-haired, Steven-looking human in particular whose mouth was now clamped shut by her fellow Crystal Gems. Garnet and Amethyst looked frantically left and right, trying to determine whether Greg's breach of secrecy had any effect. Their search halted upon seeing Pearl's long, disbelieving face.

_Hm?!_

The flustered Gem struggled with a few exclamations. She managed to start a sentence, abandoned it as it devolved into a series of confused noises, then forged ahead with a new one that managed to survive the disruptive surprise enveloping her. "Steven's going to _school_?!"

Amethyst decided to start explaining through the torrent of amused fans interacting with her. "Haha, yeah, funny thing about that- hey man, glad you liked the show!- so, funny thing is we all- aww shucks, _you're_ awesome, random guy!- we all decided that Steven should go ta school and junk."

"And who exactly is _we all_?!" Pearl demanded, eyes darting between Garnet, Amethyst, and Greg.

"We all is kinda... us three, Pearl," Greg explained, entering a very long hand-shake with Mr. Smiley. "We just thought it'd be the best for him, ya know? And what with how gung-ho you were for teachin' him and... _anti_-gung-ho you were for our public school system..."

_What?! I'm not _that_ unreasonable! I- I can be bargained with! And it's not like I was _that_ against public schooling, I just very _vocally_ described it as-_

Pearl sighed.

_-as 'quite frankly, horrifying.' Perhaps my language was a bit strong, but... but that's no excuse for leaving me out of the loop like this! Especially when it's such an _important_ loop._

Overhearing the exchange, a young, concerned voice cut out from the center of the crowd. "Wha-? You guys never told Pearl?"

Steven jumped up on Greg's shoulders, eliciting a small chuckle from the man as he grabbed his son's legs and steadied him. "You shouldn't do stuff like that! We Gems- and non-Gem affiliates, sorry dad- we gotta be open with each other. After all, we're friends, right? And we're all on the same team! So whatever you have against tellin' Pearl stuff, just... talk it out next time. Like... like _I_ should have done with the wrestling thing."

Steven took on an apologetic look of his own. "I'm sorry, Pearl. From now on, I won't avoid speaking with you about somethin' just because I think you won't like it."

Seeing Pearl's silent frustration, Garnet walked out of the packed crowd around like she was parting a ball-pit. Upon reaching Pearl, she placed her hand on her shoulder. It was the second time that night, and it was just as large, just as firm, and just as comforting.

"We're sorry for not speakin' about this with you. Steven's righ'. It was wrong. But it's not like we're not gonna teach 'im anymore. He jus' needs a bit more than we can give."

Pearl smiled warmly at her friend, nodding her head in acceptance. "It's alright, Garnet. I probably would have made some sort of... fuss about it or something. B-but I _promise_ I won't be so... anti-gung-ho about an idea in the future just because my _first_ impression is that it is- well... slightly unwise. So, yes. Apology accepted. And... thank you."

_And thank _you_, Steven,_ Pearl thought with a smile, waving Garnet back into the crowd of Beach City residents eager to begin one-sided conversations with the verbally reserved Gem. _You always know what to say, even if you don't quite know _how_ to say it._

Pearl continued her way around the crowd, managing to work her way to the back without garnering too much attention. There was someone she thought she saw- someone she was hoping to find. And someone who she, admittedly, hoped wasn't actually there.

_I would just have _no_ idea what to say to him after that... that _affront_ to theater! Oh, and after I made that big deal about making him my apprentice yesterday, I-_

Pearl stopped. To her pleasant surprise, and abject dismay, she found him. Standing in the rear, arms wrapped tightly around himself, and neck craning to see over the crowd was-

"Alan."

_Oh, no, don't draw his attention! Now he's going to-_

"Pearl! Hah- hello! That was... _quite_ the performance. Was that really all in that textbook, _Electricity and Magnetism, For Kids!_? I can't image- well, I suppose I _can_ imagine, it's just also highly unlikely in my imagined version of the book that all of that... _excitement_ was in the original script."

_Your instincts were correct, my young apprentice. That was, in fact, _not_ as the play was presented in the book. It was, in fact, _not_ as the play was presented to _me_ just minutes before it was performed, either._

"Not... _quite_, no. It wasn't verbatim to the book's version. The main lessons were maintained, I suppose, but the rest was somewhat... altered."

_But what is he doing here, anyway? I suppose he would have known about the event, what with Steven coming to the car-wash all the time, but..._

"Why did you come out tonight?"

Alan seemed to struggle with the question, pulling his arms tighter around himself. "I just..."

"And is it really _that_ cold?"

Alan looked down, noticed that he was approximating a boa constrictor around his waist with his arms, and loosened his limbs with a timid chuckle.

"Oh, right, that. No, I just- well, I don't really know anyone here. And I heard that if you exhibit closed body language, strangers will be less inclined to approach you, so... yeah. It's not actually that cold."

_Doesn't know anyone? I know it's only been a week, but he's at _least_ met Lars and Sadie and Steven and Greg and I. Oh, but we were all in that large clump in front of the stage. I suppose I know how it feels- plopped in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by strange sights and scenes and... beings. But back then, I had Rose. Alan? What does he have? A question? A mission? Those won't keep you company when all around you is... strangeness. _

"At least you know us," Pearl said, gesturing to herself and the Universes, who were still stacked on top of each other and were now entertaining double high-fives as a father-son duo.

_Familiarity. Everyone needs a place to land. And of _course_ it doesn't come from nothing; nobody knows _everything_ when they start anew. But, that foothold- those first few, sure steps that you take... when you go somewhere new with someone you know, you always have that. There's always someone there to walk with you, to hold your hand and watch your back and tell you when the path you're taking is uneven. But when you don't know anyone- when you don't know each other... each step is an exploration._

Alan smiled. It was small, and it was mostly to himself, but Pearl noticed it. "Yeah. Yeah! I do. I... thanks. I just came out here to..."

_Each step is an exploration. And here I am. Here _we_ are. And one of the first steps he saw _me_ take was across from stage right, backwards upstage, up into the air, plummeting upside-down, and around a crowd of people he can barely recognize._

The young physicist shuffled the sand at his feet, almost bringing his arms around himself again but managing to force them behind his back.

"...to see who I was entering an apprenticeship for."

_Oh dear._

"And? Who is it?" Pearl asked, masking her apprehension by playing with the corners of her tunic.

_Oh, where's Garnet when you need a reassuring hand?_

Alan's smile widened. It was now something that Pearl would, very barely, categorize as a visible smile, meant for more than just Alan to himself.

"Someone nice."

_Nice?_

"And, um... very quick on her feet," Alan said, taking a small jump and pointing to his feet in reference to her tumbling act in the middle of the play.

_A respectable pun. Though one which I will _not_ humor with a chuckle._ Despite her resolve, Pearl grinned, though only ever so slightly.

"So... did you enjoy the play?"

"Yes!" Alan said with a sudden burst of energy. Realizing how jarring his change of volume must have sounded, he brought his voice back down to a conversational tone. "Yes. It was funny. And surprising. And quite informative! Though I noticed you didn't mention the helix each particle's trajectories would form-"

"Oh!" Pearl exclaimed with a small, surprised laugh. "Haha, you _noticed_ that? Oh, I was hoping it would just fly over everyone's _heads_ but- well, yes, I _meant_ to say it. I was just a tad... distracted."

"You mean by the impromptu wrestling scene?" Alan corroborated. "Hah- yeah! I imagine it might be a bit _jarring_ for someone's concentration. You know, when your proton turns into some sort of purple cat-person and your electron into a, um... _other_ type of cat-person."

"Ah, well... anything for Steven."

Alan's eyebrows rose at the comment. It was something that Pearl hadn't given a second thought, and probably wouldn't if it happened again in the foreseeable future.

"Yeah. I think I'm starting to see that."

Pearl let out a tense breath of air. One that she, once again, hadn't known she was holding. And, as before, her entire body soon followed suit, freeing her of the mental concerns that were stressing her physical form. Pearl was pleased with herself. She had chosen someone who would not only watch her messily execute a ridiculous play for her friends, but would congratulate her on it afterwards.

_He's also someone who needs guidance. No, not just needs- someone who is _seeking_ guidance. Actively. Searching for it like it was his... his _duty_ or something. Guidance in knowledge, guidance in discovery. And guidance in Beach City, though I'm certain he doesn't know that yet. And _I_ shall be the one to grant it to him. Hah! How exciting- a chance to actually _use_ this enormous pool of knowledge that's just swashing about in my head all day! And it's not... well, it's not like _he's_ the only one who needs guidance. Once we start, then maybe, _finally_, I can _glimpse_ at what you saw on this little planet with these little people, Rose._

Pearl started away from Alan, giving him a cordial wave goodbye. As was human custom. But before she was too distant, Pearl had one last thought.

"Tomorrow morning, at _precisely_ nine o'clock, in front of the beach house. It's apprentice business- please be there, Alan!"


	10. Alan's Data Record, Entry One

parsing audio

[= ] - 10%

[=== ] - 54%

[======] - 100%

output -

This is the data record of Alan. The, um, first one. Not that I've _never_ recorded data before but- um, yeah. This is the first data record, of _this_ data... record, for _this_ set of data. Though I suppose this _will_ be more of a general use sort of thing... l-let me try this aga-

\- output

parsing audio

[= ] - 7%

[== ] - 21%

[==== ] - 65%

[======] - 100%

output -

This is the data record of Alan, unrestricted to any particular set of data and open for personal use at my discretion. Entry one.

I found this old digital voice recorder at a garage sale. I think it was the... Fryfolks? Frymen? No, wait, that's not- Frymans! Yes, the Fryman family. They were selling a bunch of stuff out of their garage. Which I guess I didn't need to explain, since the term 'garage sale' suggests that... yeah. The sale was... yeah.

Anyway, each of the Frymans had their own section of the driveway to hawk their wares. Heh. You know, I've never actually _used_ that phrase before. Hawk their wares? What does that even- ahem. It's besides the point. The oldest Fryman, um... Reginald? No, I wrote their names down somewhere- ah! Ronaldo. He had out an old, plastic foldable table that had a bunch of... well, _stuff_ on it. And next to it. And taped underneath it. And hanging from a sign that read "Mysterious Mystery Mogul's Market," below which a loosely-nailed _second_ sign hung that read "Sponsored in part by Keep Beach City Weird!"

I don't think I'm familiar with either of those establishments. Am... am I _supposed_ to know them? I certainly did not back then.

So I asked him. And he got this distant look and told me, "maybe not. Maybe the world is just... not _ready_ for my _truth_." Well, I _assume_ he was telling me. Thinking back, it looked an awful lot like he was telling the sun or the clouds or the big oak sitting next to their driveway. But when I started walking away, he was quite eager to clarify that I was, in fact, ready for his truth. And merchandise. It just looked like an assortment of miscellaneous items from their garage, but Ronaldo insisted that they were, in his words, "professional, super-triple-S, relic-tier anomalous investigatory gear." I maintain that it was an assortment of miscellaneous items from their garage. But, two items did stand out to me. One being this digital recorder, which I, um... bought. Which I guess is evident by the fact that I'm speaking into it. Right now. Of course. The other? Well...

Have you ever seen one of those ridiculous attractions- the ones that claim they have some fantastic supernatural back story that is substantiated by stint of the attraction's existence- and thought, if only for a moment... what if this were real? Not- not _you_ in particular, digital voice recorder. You are, after all, a piece of plastic and metal powered by a rechargeable lithium-ion battery. Though, what with Ronaldo being the way he is, I wouldn't put it past you to have seen or been to any _number_ of strange things and places. Well, voice recorder, the other item I bought that day was purchased in _exactly_ such a moment, where suspension of disbelief very briefly trumped sense, reason, and my reservations about the limitations of my wallet.

Ronaldo claimed that it was a piece from a... a giant floating hand from outer space. One that laid siege to Beach City and was... destroyed, I guess.

_Haaa._

Huh. I wonder how this thing's going to parse that sigh. A-anyway, just thinking about how _ridiculous_ of a pitch Ronaldo gave me, it... it makes me feel sort of bad for spending ten dollars on it. Ten _good_ dollars that could have given me several sparse, sensible meals. But, here it is. It's a green rock. Feels like it may be metallic, but it's hard to determine its exact composition without at least _some_ rudimentary lab equipment. It _is_ oddly smooth on one side, like it was manufactured, or- oh, listen to me! It's a shiny rock, and I bought it because of how wrapped up I am in finding something that actually _is_ amazing. It is, however, rather useful in keeping my dissertation from falling off the stack of cleaning supplies I call my night-stand.

Besides the digital voice recorder, I _also_ managed to find an open-source text-to-speech converter! It took me a whole, um... two? Two, yes. Two days to get the source code compiled and running on Greg's desktop, but... I did it! I guess it's not really _Greg's_ desktop, it's the old computer in the main office. Greg said I could use it since I was, and I quote, "doin' such a bang-up job gettin' these cars clean." I told him that it was mostly Pearl- no, not mostly, _entirely_ Pearl- who implemented all of those time-saving organizational changes. _And_ she made that nifty resource tracking program! I wonder... just _where_ was she educated? Is that one of those questions she doesn't want me asking?

B-but anyway... oh, where was I? The desktop, yes. I am_ proud_ to announce that my efforts are now computer-assisted once more! And, most importantly, _internet_-assisted! Haha! Hah... um, sorry voice recorder; I didn't mean to yell. It's just... the very _concept_ and _execution_ of the internet is simply, well... a marvel! _Everyone_ connected to _everyone_ _else_ at _all_ _times_\- it's astounding! And to think that, given how important this complex amalgam of links and routers and protocols is to everyone, we _still_ have to deal with the physical limitations of classical communication- it's, well... someone should _do_ something about it, shouldn't they? We're sending _everything_ we know over clogged undersea cables and into noisy cloud banks and through gauntlets of free electrons in the ionosphere, and we expect it all to arrive, intact, in any timely sort of manner? Oh, but of course I'm being nit-picky over some _minor_ definitions, like, say 'intact' or 'timely.' Surely not _every_ block of information needs all of its parts. I doubt many people spend their days weeping over a missing pixel or a split-second of fuzzy audio in their two hour movie streams. And surely not _every_ communication needs to be issued any faster than they are now. Does someone loading a webpage really care if it takes two milliseconds or two hundred milliseconds to fetch the main banner atop the site? But, still...

Every communication, every conversation, is the realization of an impossible interaction. Two people from _entirely_ different worlds can share... _something_ with each other. Something meaningful. Something that they can't- and, indeed, shouldn't- travel an untenable distance to give to each other. In this hyper-connected world, distance between two people is no longer a measure of miles or meters. It's a measure of _time_. Are any two people _truly_ together if they're always a half-second behind each other? A full second? A minute? When everything we do is mangled up and slowed down before the other person's device even has a _chance_ to parse our transmission, aren't we still separated? Aren't we still held apart by this physical disconnect of clouds and cables and free electrons? But, if we remove the _need_ for travel...

_Haaa_.

I don't know why I'm entering this into my data record. It's not like anyone, other than me on a slow day, is going to even _glance_ at these text files. And I already know all the reasons that I pursued my advanced degree. It's just... well, what would my parents say? I'm a post-doc working at a local car-wash who bought a shiny rock on the off chance that it would actually _mean_ something. No- I don't have to wonder. They'd tell me to work at the family restaurant, learn how to cook some dishes from home. And not 'Delmarva' home where I grew up. _Home_ home. _Their_ home. The one I've never even been to, but they _still_ expect me to-... ah, it's no use getting worked up now. It's seven-thousand miles to the east. Or, I guess, seventeen-thousand nine-hundred miles to the west, given the circumference of the earth. Either way, it's a trip I'm not keen on taking in the near future. Especially given my, um, financial status.

Speaking of errant entries, this voice recorder had a couple of files on it that I can only assume came from the previous owner. Ronaldo certainly is... eccentric. Many of them had to do with these, what did he call them... "sneeple?" According to him, snake, um... people sort of things are doing... stuff. He's never entirely clear as to their intent, methods, goal, or appearance, but he insists that they are malign and subversive. I stopped listening to them after the first couple and just deleted them. It seemed sort of wrong to listen to someone else's audio journal. Also, they were weird and disjointed and it was creepy listening to them in my little supply closet after dark. I wonder what Pearl would think if she saw her apprentice now? Sitting alone, surrounded by industrial grade cleaning supplies, speaking into the same digital voice recorder that had born witness to so many theories of secret snake-person organizational wrong doings.

Oh, right! Voice recorder, I almost forgot the most _important_ part of my week! I met this peculiar person, Pearl. Eh, well, _peculiar_ may not be the best word for me to throw around. I'm sure I'm quite peculiar myself, and other people in this city are surely more peculiar. Like the mayor. Or Ronaldo. But... yes. She was... curious? Curious is a good word for it. We have had a total of seven encounters, and in each one I have managed to make a fool of myself somehow. And the things she says... they _certainly_ don't contain the words or subjects you would find in normal conversations. But they are interesting. She knows _something_. Something curious, something wonderful, and something that I could _definitely_ learn. I had no idea how to approach her, given how bad I am at meeting new people who aren't as ridiculously nice as Greg or Sadie. But... it was so strange, voice recorder. One day she just came to the car-wash, helped make the place _not_ a terrible mess, then offered to make me her apprentice. And I accepted.

Hah. Haha! I'm an apprentice! Doesn't that sound awfully _antiquated_? Not that apprentices don't _exist_ anymore or anything; I've heard of 'modern apprenticeship' programs that combine regular employment with training in a specialization and an official qualification program. But... that doesn't really sound like what Pearl has in mind. Not that I actually _know_ what Pearl has in mind or anything. Thus far our interactions have, for the most part, consisted of her saying outlandish, incredible things and me just... believing them. Getting excited and chasing these _implications_ that hang over everything she says. But...

What if she's just making all of this up? What if all this talk of transdimensional particle interaction is just... well, what if it's her "sneeple?" Am I just going to accept it? Am I just going to end up buying into another green, shiny, alleged space-rock? Because sometimes a rock is just a rock. No matter how much you want to believe it came from space or that its wild claims are substantiated by stint of its existence.

Still, though... there's something about Pearl. Some speculative honesty. Some inquisitive authenticity. Even if what she says may not be true, you can tell just by listening to her that... she believes it, wholeheartedly. It's true to her, and she's offering to make it true to me. Maybe... maybe that's why I'm so prone to believing her. Yes. Yes! I _want_ to believe her. Haha- I do, so I _do_! Isn't this why I'm here? Why I came to Beach City in the first place? To find what preposterous, fantastic source of unknown knowledge is the source of all the remarkably abnormal accounts surrounding this sleepy little town? No, that's not quite right- coming here was a step. Finding something _new_ here is an advancement, a progression. But they are stages; necessary procedures for that tireless, endless pursuit called-

Hah. What am I saying? That sounds so cheesy! I was _going_ to say "science," but- but that would've been so... typical! How many times has science been described as a tireless, endless pursuit? Haha! Oh... ahem. It's not just science, voice recorder. I want to contribute to _knowledge_. Knowledge! All of it! That great, big, nebulous cloud of facts and discoveries and rules and laws and _timeless_ insights! That entity that sleeps across a thousand databanks and a million servers and a billion books, scrolls, and chiseled tablets, just _waiting_ for somebody, _anybody_, to wake it, if only ever so briefly, with a question. And maybe, just maybe, some part of it resides in Pearl. Some part that she is offering to awaken so that I may ask it one of my small, silly questions.

I don't think my parents ever understood that. They never quite _got_ that there was something I wanted to contribute- not for the 'here-and-now,' but for the 'always.' I guess what worried them was that I didn't quite _have_ that something. Nobody does when they start out. It was always going to be something that I would have to find, through countless hours of searching and pondering and... and failing. Even now, what have I contributed? I published a paper that did nothing but suggest an idea. No actionable answers, no new solutions that you can take to a lab and verify. Just... an idea. One that I _know_ can work, there's just something missing.

_Phaa._

I... sort of wish I knew more people around here. Not that Greg isn't great or anything! He _is_ great, and I can't believe someone as nice as him _exists_! And I know that I've only been here a week. But, still... thinking back to my old lab, where all we did was work and chat and strive together- I miss it. I miss having people to talk to who were as excited about the same goal or as immersed in the same field of study. But... no, this is a secondary concern. There are more important things. Surely.

Tomorrow I'm meeting with Pearl at _precisely_ nine o'clock in front of the beach house. Then, maybe, I can glimpse that most _fantastic_ of objectives.

The realization of an impossible interaction.

End record.

Now, let's see what these output files look like. Oh, _what_? It puts those ASCII loading bars at the start of _each_ text batch? Well, I guess I'll delete them later. If, you know, I remember. Oh, wait, the record button's on _this_ side. Hah- this thing's still going! Here we go. End record.

\- output


	11. Of Egg-Based Particle Interactions

Alan shivered.

It should have been a warm start to a warm day for the young physicist shuffling sleepily down the boardwalk. But this day- the one day Alan would be spending a significant portion of his morning outdoors- the wanton nature of springtime weather decided to wander back towards its crisp, wintery cousin. The sky was overcast, the wind was blowing lethargic and chilling, and the air was filled with the frozen stillness of an earlier season. And so, Alan was cold. Cold enough to rethink the nature of his morning objective, and certainly cold enough to bring his blanket with him.

Alan had woken up an hour before his appointment with Pearl, leaving him plenty of time to take a quick car-wash shower and grab some manner of breakfast. What he hadn't accounted for, however, was how long he would spend sitting on his cot, shivering and trying to work up the courage to leave his lumpy bastion of warmth. Neither had he accounted for how long he would spend standing outside of the car-wash, attempting to draw from the same reserve of courage to take his shower. Nor for how very much colder he would be _after_ said shower when he re-entered the brisk morning air.

So now, damp, cold, and wrapped tightly in a plain, white blanket, Alan was shuddering his way to the beach house. And he couldn't shake the feeling that he did, indeed, look ridiculous.

_I'm glad no-one's out here. I don't want to get a reputation as the town bedsheet ghost or morning shiver-er or... something._

Shivering again, Alan pulled the blanket tighter around himself and decided that his mental faculties would be better spent on futile pondering.

_What should my first question be? It should probably be something important, right? I want to make a good, um... eighth? Yes, eighth impression. Maybe... oh! I know! I'll ask her what her definition of an elementary particle is! Wait, no, that's absurd. Everyone knows that. How about her explanation of the phenomenon of quantum entanglement? Oh, but what if she just starts laughing about quantum mechanics again? I'd rather avoid such a... situation. Hmm. I guess the _right_ thing to ask would be-_

"Alan! You are one _entire_ minute early. I commend your initiative!"

Alan stumbled a bit, snapping to attention. He hadn't noticed that he had left the uneven pavement and worn wooden planks of the boardwalk. He hadn't noticed that he had been trudging through sand for the past several minutes. What he _did_ notice, however, was Pearl, standing a little ways up from of the beach-house. But that was something Alan easily could have missed, wrapped up as he was in distracting himself from the cold. What made the scene noticeable was the decor. Wedged into the uneven sand, and balanced impeccably with loose rocks, was a chalkboard. And, next to it, a wooden table. And, on _that_, a roll of plastic wrap and a carton of eggs.

_I... I _have_ to ask about the plastic wrap and eggs,_ Alan's treasonous instincts told him, brushing aside all previous arguments like a layer of fresh snow. But, as he opened his mouth to obey his inane curiosity, a second observation interrupted him.

_Here I am, wearing my warmest clothes and attempting to fully insulate myself with my blanket, and she's just... standing around. In that _same_ tunic-with-sash-and-leggings outfit she always wears._

"Why the tunic?"

Pearl raised an eyebrow, and Alan would have brought a palm to his face if his hands weren't so occupied keeping warmth from escaping the confines of his blanket.

_Nooo, this is a _terrible_ eighth impression!_

"Is there a problem with my clothing? I think it's _much_ more practical than the outfit I used to wear. Hm. Well, I suppose I'm just not as sensitive to the cold as, um..." Pearl gave Alan a scrutinizing look that made him very self conscious about how tightly he was gripping his blanket. "...as you appear to be. No worries! I came _prepared_."

With a triumphant smirk, Pearl produced an old burlap jacket from beneath the table, spreading it out by the sleeves like a proud emblem to her foresight. It looked as worn as it was durable; the button-holes ragged with use, the pockets bereft of their enclosing flaps, and the fringes of each edge frayed by wear and weather. But to Alan, the jacket just looked warm.

"It was Greg's," Pearl said, answering Alan's puzzled look. "He likes to give Steven his old apparel, but it doesn't all exactly... _fit_." Pearl looked back and forth between the jacket and Alan, spreading the shoulders wider to get a better estimate. Shrugging, she handed the piece of clothing over to the grateful, shivering physicist, who went about replacing his blanket as quickly as he could.

"Why is it so... blue? And what's with this star on the back?"

"Oh, Greg was something of a musician when he was younger. And I use the term 'musician' in the most _modest_ sense. Surely his... _wailing_ couldn't have been more pleasant than my-!" Pearl interrupted herself with an irate sigh, massaging her temples to clear the discontent from her attitude. "May I ask you something?"

Alan nodded, struggling to untangle the blanket from the knot of fastening loops it had formed around his arms and waist.

"Why are you wearing your beddings? The jacket was a precautionary measure I took after reading this morning's weather report."

Alan laughed sheepishly, finally pulling the blanket off with one last, mighty tug. "Well, I don't really, you know... _own_ a jacket. Or, um, much more than what I'm wearing, at this point in my life."

"Oh," Pearl replied, brow dropping slightly in what Alan imagined might have been concern. "In that case, feel free to keep the jacket. I'm not keen on watching Steven tout in about anyway. And... don't worry. I'm sure that you will establish yourself here in no time, what with your regular employment and all."

_At the rate at which generous Beach City residents are gifting me housing, apparel, and work, I'm sure I'll have an entire second-hand _estate _by summer's end._

Alan finally managed to slip both arms into the sleeves of his new jacket. Bunching one side up above his forearm, he watched the fabric unfold and fall slightly past his fingers. "It's a little big," Alan concluded, letting the rest of the jacket loose and watching it hang well past his waist, "but it's warm. And _quite_ cozy! Pearl, I-... this was very nice. Thank you."

Pearl nodded- eyes closed, satisfied grin on display, and head tilted upwards, just so, in victory. "I _knew_ it would come in handy. Now, on to our first lesson!"

Pearl took her place, positioning herself strategically within arms reach of both the chalkboard and the items on the table. Then, crouching down to eye-level with the table, she very carefully pulled at the plastic wrap until an exact square was exposed, ripping it off with a quick, precise movement. Looking the square over once more to verify its equal dimensions, she held it out for Alan to take.

"Is there anything in particular you would like me to do with this piece of Saran wrap?" Alan asked, cautiously taking the square from Pearl to prevent any deformation of its painstakingly-achieved shape.

"Pardon?" Pearl raised an eyebrow while picking an egg out of the carton with each hand. "With the...? Oh! You must mean the plastic wrap. I suppose 'Saran wrap' is the genericized brand term for plastic wrap in this region? Interesting."

_If by 'this region' she means 'all of North America,' then yes._

"Hold it horizontally, please. I am going to place this egg on it." Alan complied, staring intently as Pearl fulfilled her promise and placed an egg exactly in the center of the plastic sheet. "Now, if you would pull it taught- yes, just like that. Perfect! Okay."

Placing a single, steadying finger on the egg, Pearl struck an expository pose. "Take this egg to be an elementary particle."

_Aw, I should've asked what her definition of an elementary particle is!_

"Now, _this_ side of the plastic wrap represents the dimension this particle resides in," Pearl continued, rolling the egg around slightly in emphasis.

"And is that our dimension?"

"I... suppose. It hardly matters, but... yes. For the sake of discussion, let us call the top side of the plastic wrap 'our' dimension. Now, every particle in this- um, in _our_\- dimension is subject to an array of fundamental interactions. These include the weak nuclear force, the strong nuclear force, electromagnetic force, and gravitational force." Pearl underlined her last point by pressing down with one finger on the plastic wrap, causing the egg to roll into the small depression she had formed.

_Except the influence of gravity is negligible on subatomic particles._

"Of course, gravitational influence would be much less dramatic on an _actual_ subatomic particle," Pearl said, lifting her finger and stopping the egg's movement with a careful hand. "But, you understand my point."

_Ah. Yes. Apparently, I shouldn't doubt your aptitude for self-corrective qualifying statements, Pearl. _Alan nodded energetically, still trying to keep some of the morning chill at bay. And, admittedly, shaking away the glib comments that were threatening to make their way to his tongue.

"Good!" Pearl beamed, pleased that her lesson had begun so promisingly. Taking the other egg, she held it underneath the plastic wrap, touching it very lightly to the taught surface. "Now, take this other egg to be _another_ elementary particle, and let _this_ side of the plastic wrap represent the dimension it resides in."

"And that dimension is distinct from ours?"

"Correct!" Pearl affirmed. "Now, _normally_, these two particles would go about their elementary business without _ever_ interacting with each other." Pearl let the top egg go and started moving the bottom one about, making a big deal of emphasizing that the top egg was, in fact, not moving. Alan tracked the small, white oval with his eyes, nodding along at the validity of her statement.

"However, _some_ particles have the ability to exert an _influence_ across dimensional boundaries." Pearl pushed the bottom egg up slightly, causing an egg-shaped bump on rise from the plastic sheet. As the bottom egg was moved again, Alan watched the top egg tumble about with it. "This is called a transdimensional interaction."

_Transdimensional interaction? Is that supposed to be some kind of new force or something?_

"And what causes it?"

"Hm? Oh, _that_ is unknown," Pearl responded, grabbing a third egg as she spoke. "The capacity for a particle to take part in a transdimensional interaction is a _physical_ _property_ of the particle, like mass or charge. And, much like gravitational or electromagnetic interaction, we don't know what compels the forces that act upon said property to behave the way they do. They simply... do. They exist, and it is an inescapable fact of our universe. Now, would you fold the plastic wrap in half? Yes, right over the egg. Perfect! Now, make sure the top and bottom halves are horizontal- yes, very good! We don't want to break any elementary particles due to errant tilting."

_I would feel absolutely _remiss_ if a particle broke on _my_ account,_ Alan thought, leveling both layers of plastic wrap as best he could._ Other than, you know, when we're hurtling them towards each other through an accelerator at ridiculous speeds and shattering them to study how their components diffuse. For science._

With an air of precision and grace, Pearl placed the third egg on what was now the top-most layer of plastic wrap. "_This_ is a third elementary particle."

"Is it in the same dimension as the bottom-most egg?"

"That is _exactly_ the dimension it belongs to!" Pearl said with a grin. "Consider the dimension with these two eggs _our_ dimension. Oh, wait, we already said the dimension the middle egg is in is ours, didn't we? W-well, rescind that definition. The dimension with two eggs is now our dimension."

Alan stared for a moment, looking back and forth between the layering of eggs and plastic before he successfully decoded which dimension was, in fact, theirs. "Got it."

"Okay. Now, a _single_ particle may affect- and be affected by- more than one particle in a different dimension. When _both_ of the _other_ particles involved in this _third_ particle's interaction are in the same dimension," Pearl said, trying very hard to point at the right eggs at the right time with her right hand, "then the two particles in the same dimension _appear_ to have an interaction with each other."

Pearl pushed the bottom-most egg up again, causing the middle egg to slide slightly out of place and send the top egg rolling. Alan initiated a series of frantic plastic-angling maneuvers to catch the egg, eventually shepherding it back to the center. "So, are you saying that quantum entanglement is caused by a series of particles, in _another dimension_, secretly interacting with _both _halves of an entangled pair?"

"Secretly?" Pearl said with a puzzled tone. "I-it's not a secret at all, I assure you! For example, I just told you about it. So... there. Besides, how else would you explain such distinct physical systems sharing a statistical correlation?"

_Coincidence? Quantum magic?_

"And _don't_ say 'coincidence.'"

Alan closed his mouth before his next words could escape. _I was actually going to say quantum magic, but... she probably wouldn't like that either. Still, if what she says is true..._

"When one half of an entangled pair is observed, it collapses to a specific quantum state," Alan began. Pearl leaned in, an eager look engulfing her as she readied herself to answer Alan's question. "The _other_ half of the entangled state may then be observed to collapse to the _same_ quantum state. So, according to your model-"

"-intermediary transdimensional interactions are causing the states to align!" Pearl blurted, excited to impart her understanding to her apprentice. In demonstration, Pearl aligned all three eggs atop each other. Then, holding them in a column with the tips of her fingers, she began rotating the bottom-most egg. The middle egg began turning as well, causing the top egg to spin in the same direction as the bottom egg.

"See?" Pearl said, smiling at her own use of educational kitchen materials. "If this was how 'spin' in a particle's quantum state worked-"

_But it's not._

"-which, of course, is _not_ true-"

_Oh, right. Self-corrective qualifying statements. Almost forgot. Sorry, Pearl._

"-but if it _were_ true, then the spin between the top and bottom eggs- ahem, I mean the top and bottom _particles_\- is the same because of influence from the _middle_ particle. In another dimension."

Alan stared at the slowly rotating column of eggs. Pearl was grinning at them like a poet admiring one of her own particularly clever stanzas. The longer Alan stared, however, the lower Pearl's grin fell. Soon, it resembled a strained version of her neutral face rather than a pleasant expression. _Is this... is this _really_ what I'm going to spend my day on? Learning about some _terribly_ convenient model of particle interaction that just... _explains_ away some of the inherent mysteries in quantum mechanics? Without Pearl even substantiating any of these... these _claims_?_

Suspension of disbelief can be achieved in two ways. The first is through willing action of the audience; to accept what is presented to them despite how hard to believe the information they are internalizing is. The second is through cognitive estrangement, wherein acceptance is promoted by stint of the audience's lack of knowledge. Alan wasn't sure which operating definition was most applicable to him. But he _was_ aware that an essential component of suspension of disbelief was present in every unsubstantiated claim Pearl made.

_There's always a semblance of truth._

And for Alan- for now- that was enough.

"So... how does one quantify a particle's capacity for transdimensional interaction?"

Pearl's face lit back up. She spun excitedly towards the blackboard and produced a piece of chalk, getting ready to expand upon the concepts she had just introduced. Before Pearl could begin what Alan was _sure_ would be a predictably long-winded explanation, he interjected with one last question.

"Why the eggs?"

Pearl paused. Looking down at the bundle of plastic wrap and eggs Alan had gently set on the table, she brought a pondering finger to her chin. "Well, according to my research, eggs seem to be the standard elliptical teaching aid for scientific education."

Alan sucked in an unsure breath through his teeth, glancing sideways and trying to find the right words. Pearl frowned at his expression. "Was I... incorrect?"

_Well, not _really_, but..._

"We... don't really use eggs at, um... at this level."

_Since we're not in high-school. Or middle-school. Or elementary school._

"Oh!" Pearl exclaimed, clasping her hands together abashedly. "Haha, well... I _thought_ it was just some strange human custom that I had to-... right. Nevermind. Next time, I'll just use some sensible metallic spheres."

Pearl turned back to her blackboard, drawing two square planes parallel to each other. "Now, take these to be two separate dimensions."

Alan nodded, placing his hands on his hips and staring intently at the board. As Pearl began filling the board, and the air, with explanations and definitions and equations, Alan felt the first few rays of tentative sunlight break through the overcast sky.

_I suppose I can just... learn it. Yeah. And as for whether it's real or not? That's... _

Alan reached out and grabbed one of the scattered rays of light. It was warm on his palm; a soothing remedy to the chill surrounding him.

_That's an issue for another day._

* * *

"...and those are the basic concepts behind particle-system-to-particle-system transdimensional interaction."

Pearl dusted the chalk off her hands, punctuating the finality of her point. Behind her was a chalkboard full of splotchy erasures, complex, looping figures, and more than one carefully drawn arrow leaving one side of the board and entering the other. In the center, somehow related to the chalky maelstrom of confusion surrounding them, were two circles, plainly labeled 'P-1' and 'P-2.'

_That's practically the only part I understood,_ Alan bemoaned. He looked down at the notebook in his hands- promptly provided by Pearl when it was revealed that he had nothing to take notes with- and saw that his own interpretation was no clearer. _I've never even _seen_ some of these symbols before!_

Mentally defeated and physically exhausted from standing for the past few hours, Alan relented. He plopped down on the soft sand beneath him, crossing his legs and flipping through page after page of hastily scrawled notes. Pearl raised an eyebrow. Tentatively, she sat down herself, mimicking Alan's pose. After a moment or so of silence, she looked at the piece of chalk in her hands, eyeballing the impractical distance between her hand and the chalkboard's surface. With a small shrug, Pearl grabbed both legs of the chalkboard. Then, with a motion as easy as pulling down a projector screen, she tugged the chalkboard down into the sand, sinking it up to the frame. Alan paused mid-page-turn, looking back and forth between the chalkboard and where the chalkboard used to be.

_Did... did she just...?_

Noticing Alan's half-gaping expression, Pearl furrowed her brow. "Is something the matter?"

"How did you...?"

Pearl followed his gaze to the chalkboard. And to where the chalkboard used to be. And back to the chalkboard again. "Oh. Well, I suppose I _am_ stronger than the average human."

Alan nodded, unable to deny the validity of her claim. _Wait, 'than the average human?' This isn't the first time she's mentioned people- humans- like they're..._

The thought stopped itself, unwilling to continue where Alan was heading with it. _But still... she's here. And she's entertaining questions; or, at least, has been for the past few hours. Maybe..._

"Why do you mention 'human things' so explicitly?"

"Well, _aren't_ they human things?"

_A fair point._

"Yes, I suppose they are human things, but-"

"Then my choice of descriptive language is accurate, isn't it?" Pearl had already donned what Alan was beginning to recognize as her victory face. Eyes closed, smiling slightly, and head tilted upwards, just so.

_At least it's easy to tell when she thinks she's right about something. And, given my experience, she usually _is_ right about... something._

"So... I guess this is one of those things you can't tell me about?"

It was a guess. A piece of pure conjecture. One that Alan knew would fail. Pearl would deny it because it was incorrect, and her _correct_ explanation would hold. Naturally. But, even though Alan knew it was just a guess, and even though Alan knew his guess would be wrong, he asked. Some small part of him- a part that took little heed to what he knew and what he thought was just a guess- compelled him to ask. It was the same small part that made him drive through the early hours of the morning to Beach City. The same part that made him talk to Pearl in the library. The same part that convinced him to accept Pearl's apprenticeship and buy a ten-dollar green rock and stand for hours outside on a cold morning learning how particles allegedly interact across dimensions. And it was the same small part that was so eagerly awaiting an answer, despite how sure Alan was that he had done nothing more than pose an incorrect guess.

"Ah," Pearl began.

"Hm," she continued.

"Hm?" she repeated, flustered.

"Hmm?! W-why do I... a... ahah. Hah! Haha, _well_. The thing about that is, um..." Pearl's sentence trailed off into a series of nervous laughs and half-started words. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and met Alan's questioning look. It was as though that single breath- that single moment staring at the back of her eyelids- had given her enough time to speak to herself and come to some sort of conclusion. One that she was now communicating to Alan with her own resolute gaze.

"Nothing untrue, Alan. It _is_ something I would rather you not ask about. But, I just want it noted; my point was _completely_ valid."

_It is? It is! Well, that means there's something about it she doesn't want to answer, right? Something... something that could be amazing. Fantastic! Something that-... something that may be hidden for a good reason. Something that she may not want to talk about. Something... some_one_ whose secrecy- no, whose _privacy_ I should respect._

Alan sighed. Pearl returned his gesture with a worried look. _Is she concerned that I'll make a fuss over this? Or... or _leave_ or something? It's such a small request she's making; to be allowed to keep her own secrets secret. _

Alan bowed briefly to Pearl, giving her a grin as his head rose. "Very well. And yes, your point _was_ quite valid."

_It doesn't bother me at all. Please understand._

Pearl returned his gesture once more, this time with a relieved expression. "Good. Yes. Good! Yes. Now, um... the lesson. Yes! I'm sure you didn't get _all_ of that on the first pass."

Alan gave his notes another flip-through, nodding in defeat as he did. _An astute observation._

"Well, that's okay! I didn't really expect you to. What's important is that you're exposed to the concepts. _Now_, we can get to the _real_ material!"

Pearl swiveled in her spot on the sand and brought her chalk up to the board once more, the same excitement as before animating her every movement. But, before she could finish her first figure, a set of footsteps and a trio of loud, happy voices approached them from the beach-house.

"You _ready_ fer this, Steven? We're gonna teach ya how to do _back flips!_"

"Woah! No way! I-is that true, Garnet?"

"Yeah. It's true. There's no_ way_ I'm teachin' you how to do back flips."

"Aww..."

"Yeah, c'mon, Garn! Lookit Steven's widdle face- jus' look at that widdle face!"

"...alrigh'. I can't say no to tha' face. But we're _startin'_ with front flips."

As the chattering group grew closer, Alan and Pearl sat and stared in silence. The two wordlessly agreed that they might be able to pass as rocks or oddly shaped pieces of driftwood if they were still enough.

_Aren't those the rest of Steven's not-aunts? I think Greg told me about them. That tall one must be, um... Gar... net? Yes. Garnet. And the purple one's Amethyst, I guess. Have I met them before? Oh, it's times like these that I wish I brought my name-booklet with me everywhere. It sure helped with the Frymans._

Unfortunately, Alan and Pearl's gambit failed. And, when Garnet, Amethyst, and Steven came upon them, they, too, became involved in the practice of standing still and remaining silent, staring in confusion at the two sitting on the beach before them. Finally, Garnet, the one most experienced at speaking suddenly after long periods of stoic silence, broke the group's apprehensive trance.

"Pea'l, who's this?"

"Yeah!" Amethyst chipped in, stomping the sand in front of her and causing Alan to flinch in surprise, "what's this _dude_ doin' here? And why's the chalkboard out here? And- hey! I was gonna _eat_ those eggs!"

"_Well, _Amethyst," Pearl said, crossing her arms, "you can _still_ eat them. Though I doubt that _any_ amount of exposure to the elements would have prevented you from doing so in the first place."

Amethyst shrugged, giving Pearl a 'that's-fair' look and grabbing the carton of eggs.

"Oh, and- yes, I suppose I forgot to tell you all, didn't I? Garnet, this is-"

"_Hey_ Al-abama!" Steven cut in, waving his entire arm like a loose branch in the midst of a gale. The now-nervous physicist sitting in the sand before him returned the gesture, tentatively swinging his entire arm back and forth- just once- in greeting.

"Oh! Steven. You've... met him. I suppose that was to be expected, given that your father _is_ his employer. But, for everyone else- this is Alan. My _apprentice_."

Pearl delivered her last statement proudly, smiling up at Garnet.

_W-wait, don't look _that_ proud about it! Now she's going to expect me to do... _things_! Maybe even _impressive_ things!_

Garnet crossed her arms, stared down at Alan, and hummed a prolonged, contemplative "hmm." Alan, in return, shifted uncomfortably in his sandy seat. He looked to Pearl for help, but found that she was occupied staring up expectantly at Garnet.

"Alrigh'," Garnet said at the end of her lengthy, nerve-wracking 'hmm.' "As long as he doesn't ge' in the way, that's fine."

"_Thank_ you, Garnet," Pearl beamed. "I _knew_ you would see the merit in my taking on an apprentice."

"Pfft," Amethyst scoffed. "An _apprentice_? What'rya, serious? Nobody even _does_ all that apprentice jazz anymore, Pearl; it's, like, two billion years outta style."

"Well, I think it's _way _cool!" Steven said, looking at Pearl with stars in his eyes. Alan grinned to himself; Pearl, who was sitting upright on the ground, was _exactly_ at eye level with his boss' easily excitable son. "Does that mean you're a _master_ now? Like those ancient masters of sword fighting and secret wisdom from tee-vee?"

Pearl laughed, bringing her head up and snapping her hands forward, limply, in dismissal. "Nothing quite so... dominant, Steven. Although I _do_ have both considerable talent with a sword and a veritable _sea_ of, um... 'secret wisdom,' I am _not_ a master. He is my apprentice. That is all."

"Heh. More like a _puddle_," Amethyst said, looking an egg over with idle interest. Pearl glared at her purple friend, whose cheeky smile only grew. Then, opening wide, she popped the egg into her mouth and swallowed it with a loud crunch.

Much to Alan's abject dismay.

_Hey, did she just-... what! Y-you can't just... well, you _can_, evidently, because I just saw it happen, but- but that's not-! You can't just _eat_ a raw egg!_

"Y-you can't just _eat_ a raw egg!" Alan's flustered centers of speech echoed. Amethyst finished scraping the remnants of the egg from her teeth with her tongue and regarded Alan with a disinterested look.

"Uh, well, I'm pretty sure I just did, so..."

"A-_Amethyst!_" Pearl said, aghast. "That was _very_ rude! I think. It _seemed _rude, anyway. And it was _disgusting!_ Please take your raw egg consumption elsewhere."

"Fine, _birdface_," Amethyst said, walking away with her carton of eggs held high in one hand. "I'll leave if eatin' _bird_ eggs makes ya uncomfortable."

"Amethyst, you shouldn't make fun of her nose," Steven said, trailing Amethyst. "It's not nice."

"Yeah, well... yeah. You're right. I'll make it up ta her later, 'kay?" Amethyst responded in a loud whisper to the bouncing boy next to her. Garnet was the last to leave, giving Alan a long, unreadable stare before following the other two. But, before they were out of sight, Garnet turned around again. Alan couldn't tell where exactly she was looking, but it seemed distant. Far more distant than the spatial confines of the scene before her. Garnet snapped out of her second stare with a small nod and a satisfied, almost undetectable smile. But Alan saw it. And so, too, did Pearl.

"I wonder what she saw?"

Alan turned to face her. "What she... saw?" He spun his head, looking all about him for some incredible object or eye-catching phenomenon. But, no. There was nothing. Just him, dressed in a blue jacket with a yellow star, sitting cross-legged in the sand, and surely looking as confused as he felt. "Should I ask?"

"No," Pearl responded curtly. "But... thank you for asking. Whether you should ask, that is. Now, shall we continue with our-?"

Alan's stomach grumbled. Loudly, much to Pearl's quiet dismay. The two looked at his stomach, then at each other.

"I guess I've been here a while. And I didn't really have time for breakfast."

"What were you doing this morning before you arrived, then?"

_Ah. A good question._

"Mostly... _not_ leaving bed. Then _not_ taking a shower. Then _not_ leaving said shower."

Pearl made a 'huh?' face, suggesting to Alan that his explanation was lacking.

"It was cold, and I was very slow to commit to any action that would make me colder."

Pearl's 'huh?' face turned into an 'ah' face. "In that case, maybe you should go get something to eat. If, you know, eating is your... _thing_." Pearl said the last part with a slight shudder, shaking away some unpleasant thought or another.

"That's a good idea," Alan agreed, muffling another protest from his stomach with both arms.

"Yes. Yes, it _is_ a good idea. Please return no later than one hour. We still have a _lot_ to cover if we want to get to the mechanics behind basic single-particle-to-single-particle transdimensional interaction!" Pearl clasped her hands together giddily at the thought of continuing her confusing lesson.

_No, that's not it,_ Alan thought, standing up and waving Pearl a temporary goodbye. _Her lesson's not confusing; she's actually doing quite a good job at introducing novel material to someone entirely foreign to the subject. Well, not _entirely_ foreign; the stuff about conventional particle interaction is easy. It's all of this transdimensional stuff that's making it confusing. _

Alan made his way to the boardwalk, resolved to get something from the pizza place Greg had told him about yesterday. _Yes. It _is_ confusing. But... maybe all I need is a little more time with the mathematics. Once you understand the rules underlying a system, its machinations gain context. Then, it all just... fits. The same with electromagnetism. The same with gravity and the nuclear forces and quantum mechanics. _

Coming upon Fish Stew Pizza, Alan looked skeptically at what was supposed to be an appetizing sign. The fish arranged in intersection with the pizza made him wonder if this was the right choice. _It's just another system. Another set of equations with another set of definitions and another set of special symbols and operations and rules. I can figure this out. I just... I just need time._

"Welcome to Fish Stew Pizza!" Alan snapped back to attention. It was the girl at the counter; someone who Alan was certain he had never seen before. And, thus, someone who had never seen him before, either. Alan gave her a small wave and a timid smile. _I have to figure this out. I owe Pearl that much, what with all the effort she's going through to teach me the material. She even made up that plastic-wrap egg thing. How can I doubt her commitment after _that?

"May I have two slices of cheese, please? O-of cheese pizza, of course. I, um... yeah. I don't want two big slices of... of just cheese." The girl gave Alan a puzzled look. Then, parsing his order, she started laughing quietly to herself while initiating a practiced series of button presses on the register. _Yes. This is my task. This is my assignment. I _will_ learn this material. Pearl _will_ succeed in teaching it to me. And, maybe, when all is said, and written, and explained- maybe _then_ I can find out whether this is something real._

The girl placed two slices of pizza atop a double layer of paper plates, sliding them across the counter. Alan, in return, offered her several crinkly, well-worn one dollar bills, which she efficiently exchanged for a small handful of change. She thanked him with a little wave. Alan thanked her back with a small bow, hands occupied keeping the pizza from dripping all over the floor. _If it's not, then what will I have lost? A week or two otherwise spent doing _nothing_ to advance science? To forward my field? To... to actually make something of myself?_

Alan sat down at a small table near the front window. As he took a large bite of his first slice, he immediately felt better. _The principles of transdimensional particle interaction are confusing and difficult to grasp. Pearl is committed to presenting them to me. I will learn them._

Alan swallowed; it was good not feeling so empty anymore. _And whatever Pearl feels I shouldn't know... maybe she'll feel that I'm ready to know later. I won't pressure her._

Alan's legs hung loose beneath his chair, protesting at their prolonged use with a dull ache. Alan groaned. _I'll ask Pearl to make this a sitting lecture from now on_.


	12. How Singing Saved A Physicist's Resolve

Somewhere in the world, hiding amongst the myriad population archetypes pervasive in every society, is the mythical 'morning person.' The type of person who loves leaving their slumber in the early hours of the day. The type of person that hops out of their comfortable, secure, warm bed without a hint of grogginess or reservation. The type of person for whom energy is implicitly available from the very moment their consciousness wakes, despite the lack of breakfast or coffee or any sort of motivation.

By every definition of the concept, Alan was _not_ that person. He was unhappy. He was sleepy. His eyelids were heavy. And, currently, he was standing in fragile equilibrium between his cot and the supply closet door, pulled in one direction by the promise of a few more minutes of blissful rest and in the other direction by his commitment to making his morning appointment. Yesterday, he had agreed to regular eight o'clock meetings with Pearl for a good two hours of confusing _stuff_ before work. A decision he was now beginning to regret.

_How many eight o'clock lectures have I missed in my undergraduate and graduate years? Have I learned nothing?_

Alan took a half-step towards his cot, swaying to the warmth and comfort that it promised.

_But I already agreed, I can't back out now. Besides, there are worst things to spend my mornings on. Like sleeping forever._

Alan steeled himself and took a full step towards the door, shaking away his grogginess with limited success.

_And if I don't go, I'll never learn all that confusing _stuff_! That would be absolutely unacceptable._

Resolve growing, Alan took another step towards the door, standing taller and opening his eyes to their fullest.

_I _am_ leaving this room and starting my day. No matter how much better sleeping in would _definitely_ be._

Finally, Alan grit his teeth and burst through the supply closet door, escaping the pull of his comfortable, wonderful, lumpy cot. "I'm awake!" he declared to the morning air, reveling in his victory over his own not-morning-person attitude. A victory that was short-lived. In the main office, rummaging for something underneath the counter, was Greg. And, much to Alan's dismay, Greg was now staring at him. Alan could do nothing but stare back.

_Hello, Greg. The outburst you just witnessed was an exemplar for how I _don't_ want you to remember me. Please disregard it._

"Oh. Uh... cool. I'm awake too, so... g'mornin'! I guess you're a mornin' person? That's good! Means I can count on you to do mornin' stuff."

_Please don't._

"Y-yes, I am very... very count-on-able. Especially in the mornings."

_W-what are you doing, me? You don't need to impress him! You're working at a car-wash, not a high-risk financial institution or some prestigious European research collaborative._

"Great! That's great. Say, you seen a blue folder 'round here? It's Steven's first day at school and I gotta be ready to meet all his teachers."

Summoning more attentiveness than his sleep-addled eyes could manage moments ago, Alan took another look at his employer. Greg was, in fact, not wearing his usual attire. Instead, his top half was adorned with a pine green turtleneck and a faded, tawny suit jacket, giving off an illusion of formality that felt disharmonious with Alan's image of Greg. The illusion was broken almost immediately, however, by his cut-off slacks and sandals, which still prominently displayed the drastic difference in tone between his sunburned feet and his pale legs.

_I suppose this is what passes for formal in Greg's wardrobe,_ Alan concluded. Scanning the room idly, his eye caught on a small corner of blue, jutting out between two sizable coils of hose.

_How does he go about organizing his life such that something _that_ important ends up between two big rubber hoses?_

Yanking the folder from its hiding place, Alan presented it to the grateful car-wash owner.

"Aw hey, it's the thing! Thanks, man."

Greg grabbed the folder, allowing Alan a glimpse of the older man's hands. His fingers were rough, wrinkled from constant use and calloused at the tips. Each digit carried a tell-tale groove; a small trough the size and shape of a guitar string.

"Hey Greg. Pearl told me you used to be a musician?" Alan mused aloud. Greg scoffed, fumbling the folder and making a scene of catching it before it hit the ground.

"_Used_ to be?! What time is it, kid?"

Alan glanced over at the wall clock behind him. _Why doesn't he just look?_

"Seven-thirty."

"Well, that's _more_ than enough time ta rock your ears off!" Greg declared, tossing the folder onto the same pile of hoses Alan had dug it out of. "With, ah- with acoustic instrumentation. Don't wanna use an amp this early in the morning. Neighbors might complain again."

Greg reached under the counter and pulled out an old guitar. It was worn; anyone could tell at first glance. The wood was faded and white along the edges, echoing where an arm had rested and moved and strummed countless times. Small scratches adorned the fret board in a dozen some-odd places, placed by errant picks or careless packing or whatever other unusual motions Greg had made with the instrument over its lifetime. But the guitar also looked well taken care of. The nylon strings were recently strung, and there was a fresh polish on the body that seemed to defy the uneven coloration of the wood beneath.

_Does he just... keep that back there at all times?_

"Oh, this old thing?" Greg said, addressing the question written on Alan's face. "I keep it here in case a customer needs an impromptu _jam_ sesh'. Ya know?"

_I... I _don't_ know, Greg. I thought this was just a car-wash, not an impromptu jam dispensary._

"Anyway, get _ready_! This is a song I used to be _sorta_ embarrassed about, but it's one-a Steven's favorites, so I'm learnin' to totally _own_ it again!"

Greg took a solid stance; feet spaced evenly, guitar hanging low, and neck aligned straight with his back. He closed his eyes, took in a long, deep breath, and exhaled, just as long and just as deep. Alan raised his brow in confusion and anticipation.

_Is he meditating?_

The scene struck Alan as surreal, as well as more than a bit amusing. Standing in front of him was a balding, long-haired, middle-aged man. One who was sporting half of a formal outfit and half of an extremely visible tan-line. And now, he was wielding a guitar in the middle of a car-wash with his eyes closed, breathing pensively. If Alan weren't so perplexed and sleepy, he might have chuckled. He may even have giggled. But the bemused sentiment didn't survive long.

Greg's eyes snapped open, and the sheepish man standing before Alan just a moment before was swept away. The musician's entire face animated, breaking out into a large, bold smile. His teeth flashed as prominently as his eager eyes, and his brows were pulled down to a confident angle. As he raised his strumming arm, Alan knew why Greg had steadied himself. His arm was high, his fingers were in position on the fret board, and the his instrument looked _eager_ to produce a noise- _any_ noise. And when Greg brought his arm down, his entire body shifted with it; a practiced absorption of the sudden change in momentum. A well-rehearsed twist to keep the guitar's body in-plane with the trajectory of his arm. Finally, his hand fell across the strings, and the instrument gratefully relinquished a single, loud, ringing chord.

_He's keying in the song, I guess? I suppose it would've been much more impressive on an electric guitar._

Looking around with a hint of surprise, like he was expecting an enormous din to emerge from more than just his guitar's sound hole, Greg quickly re-composed himself and moved on to the intro. Three quick notes in succession, ending in a trill whose oscillations were matched by Greg's frantic head-shaking. He stopped the sound suddenly with a muffling hand and opened his mouth to release the first verse.

_I know I'm not that tall_

_I know I'm not that smart_

_But let me drive my van into your heart_

_Let me drive my van into your heart_

Alan leaned forward. The strumming pattern was simple, but catching. The chords- a set of transitions that the guitarist flew between flawlessly. And Greg's strong baritone had just a hint of roughness underlying every vocal dip and prolonged tone. But it all added to the sincerity of the song. And it drew Alan in.

_I know I'm not that rich_

_ I'm trying to get my start_

_ So let me drive my van into your heart_

_ Let me drive my van into your heart_

Alan didn't even have time to think of some glib comment to himself or analyze the contents of the lyrics. The words were flowing, gruff and earnest. The notes, straightforward and cheerfully plucked from each string. All Alan had time to do was experience Greg's performance, note by note. A practice that grew more hectic as they entered the bridge. It looked as though Greg wanted to start another series of trills, but, recalling with an 'oh yeah!' face that he was holding an acoustic guitar, the musician settled for complicating his strumming pattern. He sped up just a hair, augmenting the bouncing, familiar rhythm with his own style and flavor. A tastefully plucked note here, a quick triplet there, and more than one impromptu riff that made him close his eyes and smile even wider.

_And if we look out of place_

_ Well, baby, that's okay_

_ I'll drive us into outer space_

_ Where we can't hear what people say_

Greg let the last chord of the bridge hang in the air, leaning back and growing meditative again. Alan leaned forward further, unsteady in the song's absence. But he knew the tune hadn't left; it was waiting. Steadily and excitedly watching for Greg's permission to continue. Opening his eyes with the same rush of energy and confidence he had mustered in the beginning, Greg fulfilled the promise he made when he let that chord hang. He began the progression again, and the song fell back into place.

_I know I don't have a plan_

_ I'm working on that part_

_ At least I've got a van_

_ So let me drive my van into your heart_

Greg entered his out-tro with gusto, reveling in each loud strum and allowing every word to belt out of his chest without reserve.

_Let me drive my van into your heart!_

He stomped his foot,-

_Let me drive my van into your heart_

\- rocked back and forth,-

_Let me drive my van into your heart!_

\- and smiled wide as day.

_Let me drive my van into your heart_

Greg once more let his chord hang in the musically charged air of the main office. This time, Alan could feel it depart, untethered by any person or musical obligation. It was done, it was loud, and it was proud to leave on such good terms. Greg held his finishing strum pose until the last overtones rang out of both of their ears. Then, the song was over. The musician placed his guitar on the counter with a satisfied breath, and, once more, he was Greg. Car-wash Greg. Balding-with-long-hair Greg. The Greg who told Alan his car had a good shine and gave him a cot in a supply closet.

_The same Greg who was- no, who _is_ a musician. The same Greg who knows how to excite a cavalcade of notes from a guitar. The same Greg who's comfortable rocking out words from a cradle of rugged tonality._

And the same Greg who was now scratching the back of his head, waiting for a response.

"So... didja-"

"Greg, that was... that was _great!_" Alan's face lit up, the energy of Greg's performance still swirling about in his head. "That was your song? You wrote it yourself and everything?"

"Sure did!" Greg laughed, his abashed head-scratching now turned into proud head-rubbing. "Used to be in one-a my sets, even got it on record! So don't you go lettin' Pearl tell ya I 'used to' be a musician."

Alan nodded. The only appropriate response to such a valid request.

"But, wow," Greg continued, looking over at the instrument on the counter, "that sounds _way_ different without an electric."

"An...? Oh, you mean an electric guitar?"

Greg scratched the back of his head again. "Yeah. Thought everyone knew-... yeah. You play, kid?"

"Oh, no, I never had a knack for all that finger work" Alan said, waving his hands at the guitar like it would form an imaginary barrier against misrepresented skill impressions. "I used to sing, but..."

"Used to?" Greg sounded surprised. A sentiment which showed in his raised brows and widened eyes. "How long?"

_How long? I guess I've never really counted. Perhaps a terminal time estimate will be sufficient._

"I stopped in my second year of graduate studies."

"And? C'mon kid, I wanna know how long you did it, not when ya stopped."

_It was not sufficient._

"Since... forever. Well, not, you know, _forever _forever. Given that I wasn't even born until- 'til, you know, after, uh... after forever started."

"Huh?"

_It was still not sufficient._

"Since elementary school."

"Oh! Why didn'tcha say so instead of talkin' about forever stuff and graduate junk and stuff? You sing in a band, man?" Greg did a quick, fairly convincing air-guitar, suggesting what manner of band he was talking about.

"Oh, no. Nothing so unstructured. Mostly school and recreational choir."

_And shower-taking free-style. And walking-to-class mp3-player-conducted humming. And dish-washing radio-accompanied light harmonizing backup vocals._

"One of _those_ kids, huh? That's cool, man- I never had a thing for all that _classical_ business." Greg stuck his tongue out briefly, eliciting a small chuckle from Alan.

_Does it taste _bad_ or something? We're talking about music!_

"Well, when I was a singer, I quite did have a 'thing' for 'classical business.'"

"When you _were_ a singer? C'mon, somethin' you liked for _that_ long?" Greg took on that look again. A warm ember of its former self, growing cold since his performance ended. But still glowing. An eager wrinkle in the corners of his eyes; a small, confident grin; a slight angling of the brows. And, when Greg spoke, his words picked up on that modest spark of emotion as naturally as any of the lyrics of his song. "That's not somethin' you lose."

Alan stared for a moment.

_Not something you lose, huh?_

Greg plucked his allegedly important folder from its nest of hoses, tucking it safely under one arm. "Well, I oughtta head out. Don't want Steven to be late on his first day. Then I'd look _totally_ irresponsible. Instead of, ya know, just... _mostly_ irresponsible."

"Of course. I had better leave as well; I said I would meet Pearl and-"

"Oh, you headin' to the beach? Why don't I give ya a lift?"

Greg held the door to the main office open, gesturing to the colorfully painted tour-van-turned-home. Alan shivered slightly as a waft of morning air passed him by.

"Sure. Sure! Yes, I would appreciate the ride; thank you. Let me just grab-"

Alan interrupted himself by walking face-first into the closet door, issuing a small yelp as it happened. Watching the door swing open from the reactive force of his face slamming into it- a force which his nose was still feeling- Alan reached into the closet and snatched his jacket before the door could further injure him. The clumsy physicist fast-walked outside, passing by a very befuddled Greg.

"So why you meetin' Pearl?" Greg asked, jogging a little to catch up to Alan's flustered scurry. "Is it a car-wash thing? 'Cuz that stuff she did the last time, well..." Greg mouthed a very wide "wow," pointing to the entire car-wash with a sweeping gesture.

"No, it's not- well, it's not _strictly_ car-wash related. It's not entirely unfeasible that the topic would appear in conversation, bu-... yeah. Not a, um, car-wash thing." Alan slipped the jacket on, rolling his shoulders to loosen some of the bunched up fabric.

"Oh." Greg hopped into the driver's seat of his van; a practiced motion that he had streamlined into a single, combined pull-door-open-and-hop-in-to-driving-position movement. Alan, much less used to climbing into Greg's van, entered his seat with a careful, calculated, three-step maneuver. "So what's Pearl got ya doin'? Earnin' a little on the side?"

"No, there's no payment or employment."

_Though I guess she _is_ paying me in weird knowledge._

Greg put the van in gear, rolling out of the car-wash and driving along the boardwalk. Alan tried to elaborate. "I'm actually, um..."

_Maybe I should word this better?_

"Well, I've sort of-"

_No, that's a terrible way to say it._

"I'm-"

_Oh, I'll just take the direct route._

"I'm her apprentice."

Greg pressed down on the gas in surprise, jolting both of them backwards with a combined "woah!"

"Y-you're her _what_?!"

_Her apprentice. Hah! Ah... no, I shouldn't exacerbate his mood with impudence._

"Is there an issue?"

"No, not- not _really_. I just-... well, I guess it's up ta you how you spend your free time and all." Greg brought his van back down to a comfortable cruising speed. "Just be careful, alright? Can't be losin' my best employee."

_Your _only_ employee._

The van started drifting to the side of the road, making Alan glance over with some modicum of concern. Then, the entire vehicle lurched to the right, mounting the boardwalk and continuing on to the sandy beach beyond. Alan looked over to Greg, his modicum of concern having grown into a full-fledged worry. Greg's calm demeanor, however, suggested that veering off the road was an intended course of action.

_Is... is this allowed?_ _Or even, you know, _wise?

As they traveled the beach without incident, it became clear to Alan that Greg had done this before. Many times before. He always turned his wheel to give slightly when the sand started to slip, and made sure to keep away from the slick, packed ground closer to the water.

_Something of an expert beach van-driver, huh? You are an interesting person, Greg._

The van pulled up to the beach house just as Steven was running out. Or, perhaps, Steven was running out because the van had pulled up to the beach house. Either way, the excited boy was bounding his way down the wooden stairway, making short work of them and bouncing happily down the sandy incline that led up to the beach house. Greg threw the van in park and jumped out, getting down and one knee and holding his arms wide open.

"Steven!"

"Da~d!"

Greg's son tumbled straight into him, moving the steady man backwards a step. In return, Greg's arms clamped shut, preventing Steven from doing much but entertaining his father's hug.

"Alright, dad, I give!" Steven relented laughingly, falling onto his back when Greg released him.

"You got everythin' you need, buddy?"

"Yup!" Steven declared, popping onto his feet and unslinging his backpack. Steven stifled a chortle.

_Is that the cheeseburger again?_

To Alan, there was something amusing about watching Greg's son brandish a cheeseburger the size of his body. Something that Steven, apparently, did not notice. Reaching down into a giant slice of cheese like it was a completely normal thing to do, Steven pulled out an armful of materials that Alan could only describe as school-esque.

"Steven, I _just_ finished arranging those in your cheeseburger in such a manner as to prevent _creasing_ on any of your notebooks' edges!" The trio on the beach turned their heads to find all three of Steven's not-aunts marching down from the beach house; Garnet implicitly at the head of their physical formation, but Pearl leading the charge with frantic, chastising arm gestures.

"Aw, I was just showin' dad all this neat-o school stuff we put together."

Alan took a closer look at Steven's 'neat-o school stuff.' It was comprised of several conventional school items; a binder, several notebooks, a neatly organized pencil case. But a couple of the items were... odd. Before Alan could inquire, Greg piped up with the questions that were surely on both of their minds.

"What's with the jar of glue?"

"Oh, that? I usually just _eat_ it," Amethyst said, sticking her hand in her mouth demonstratively and making a series of mock consumption noises. Alan watched Pearl edge slightly away from her purple friend, eyes narrowing in disagreement. "But I guess you can use it ta stick stuff together or somethin'? I dunno, it _felt_ school-ee."

"It's _totally_ school-ee!" Steven agreed, dropping the jar unceremoniously into his cheeseburger. "Thanks, Amethyst."

"No prob, lil' man," she accepted with a smile, ruffling Steven's curly hair.

"Alright, just don't go actually eatin' that stuff, son. Heard it's bad for ya." Greg stuck a hand into Steven's pile of school supplies and pulled out a ruler. Which was tied to a protractor. Which was tied to a thermometer. Which was threaded through a small balance scale. Holding the composite instrument up with a very confused look, Greg shook it accusingly at Amethyst.

"Tha' one's mine," Garnet interjected with a raised hand. "I wanted Steven to have _every_ measure of success."

Alan, standing completely still, almost tripped over himself. _No. There's no _way_ she did this exclusively for the joke._

Steven chuckled, taking the tool from his father and lowering it, carefully, into the lettuce pocket. "Nice one, Garnet." The tall woman nodded with a satisfied smirk.

_S-she did?!_

Greg and Steven started placing his armful of supplies back into the cheeseburger, being as careful as they could to address Pearl's notebook creasing concerns. The girl in question was watching them with something of an impatient demeanor. Her arms were crossed, her heel was tapping repeatedly on the increasingly disturbed sand beneath her, and her brow was lowered. After it became clear that whatever she was expecting was not going to occur without direct intervention, Pearl cleared her throat.

"Aren't you going to ask about _my_ contribution?"

Steven and Greg looked back into the pile. Both father and son pulled notebooks out, holding them up in offering. Pearl non-verbally rejected their attempt, crossing her arms tighter and raising an eyebrow, to which both guilty parties gave sheepish grins.

_They really are alike_, Alan mused, all but measuring the similar dimensions of both Universes' smiles. The physicist glanced into the pile and spotted a pencil holder full of neatly assorted stationary. Pencils and pens were tucked into grooved pen-and-pencil sized ridges, separated by small, ordered compartments from the erasers and paper clips and crayons efficiently occupying the rest of the plastic rectangle. Plucking the item out of Steven's arms, Alan presented it on an open palm to the rest of the morning assembly, who all glanced at Pearl. A smile and a small nod gave confirmation.

"Sorry, Pearl. It's just so... normal," Steven said, scratching the back of his head.

"Yeah, it's like, one of the only things here that makes sense," Greg agreed.

"Oh," Pearl exclaimed, looking mildly surprised. "Well, in that case... thank you for not noticing?"

"You got it, Pearl!" Steven grinned, grabbing the pencil case and placing it, by itself, in the cheeseburger's front bun.

"Now, are you sure you're ready for school, Steven?" Pearl gave Steven a hand re-placing his school supplies, introducing a measure of organization that neither Steven nor Greg would even have considered for a grade-schooler's backpack.

"Wa-hell, I _do_ have cheeseburger backpack. And really, isn't that all anyone ever needs?"

"No. There is _quite_ more that you could need," Pearl rebuked, "and I'm _not_ just talking about the dimensions of your food-shaped backpack."

The concerned caretaker knelt and took Steven by the shoulders. "Are you sure you're mentally prepared for your first day? As I understand it, human schools are amalgams of complex, irrational social constructs and repetitive, tedious course-work."

"O-oh. Well, when you say it like that, I-"

"Yeah, and I heard you can get inta' _fights_ at school!" Amethyst added eagerly, making claws with her fingers.

"_Fights_?! I- I don't wanna fight anyone-"

"Pea'l. Amethyst." Garnet stepped behind Steven, placing a firm hand atop his head and squishing his hair down. Steven giggled slightly at the gesture. "He'll be fine. Righ', Steven?"

"Right! Pearl, I'll be fine." Steven struck a brave pose, placing his hands on his hips and trying to make a serious face. The result was a very dimpled version of his normal face, in the middle of which were two eyes which were too used to laughing to ever look serious. Pearl and Amethyst glanced at each other sideways, sharing a small snort of laughter.

"Of course. Now go, go!" Pearl gave Steven a quick hug before spinning him around and patting him towards Greg's van. "School starts at eight-thirty, and if you are not there _precisely_ when it begins then it will set a negative precedent for future mornings."

Pearl glowered at Greg, tapping an invisible watch on her wrist in warning. Dropping a single bead of nervous sweat, Greg waved away her concerns with both hands, hopping into his van as Steven did.

"Hey dad, can you really get into fights at school?"

"Only if you go lookin' for one, pal. And somethin' tells me _you_ won't go lookin' for one." Greg pulled away from the beach house, driving down the shore as quickly as he could safely manage. Through the passenger side window, Alan caught one last glimpse of Steven. The boy was nodding his head solemnly, bracing himself for a day that might either be awfully great or greatly awful. But he couldn't hide the excited grin that was working its way to the corners of his mouth.

"He'll be fine, right?"

Alan glanced back at the trio of Steven's guardians. They were standing in a straight line, each of them watching the van drive away and wearing the same expression of unsure expectations. Pearl, who had spoken, was poking Garnet in the shoulder, trying to elicit some sort of response. The tall woman nodded once before turning back towards the beach house.

"You nee' to have more faith in Steven."

"Yeah, Pearl. Relax! He'll be _totally_ fine. Besides, if he _does_ get in a fight, he can just use the glue."

Pearl swiveled to admonish her purple friend, but Amethyst was already sauntering uphill after Garnet. Pearl settled for an exasperated sigh, shaking her head to herself. It wasn't until the van disappeared behind the cliff face that Alan was finally addressed.

"Steven will be fine, right?"

Alan coughed nervously to himself. _How should I know? Oh, but she looks sort of bothered about it._

"I'm sure he will. I mean, I went through almost two _decades_ of school and I turned out-"

_If I say fine I will literally be such a liar._

"-and I turned out alright."

Pearl gave him a blank look.

"Two... _decades_?"

_Uh. Is... is that a _good _request for confirmation or a _bad_ request for confirmation?_

"Yes."

"And all you've learned up 'till now is-"

Pearl whipped her head back to where she last saw the van, eyes meeting nothing but sand and a rocky cliff face. "Hm. Perhaps school was not the best use of his time after all. Oh well, we shall see what outcome this course of action has wrought in due time. For now, shall we continue where we left off?"

Alan nodded tiredly and made his way over to the chalkboard, plopping down onto the sand. _What else would Steven be using his time on?_

Pearl sat opposite him, sitting down and folding her legs in a graceful, fluid motion. "Now, do you remember what last we discussed?"

Alan reached into his jacket, fishing out a notebook and pen from one of the large, practical pockets lining the inside. Flipping to his last page of notes, he managed to decipher them through groggy morning vision. "Single-particle-to-single-particle transdimensional interaction?"

"That's right!" Pearl drew two neat circles on the board, labeling one P1 and the other P2.

_Oh no, not P-one and P-two again. These guys are the worst._

"Now, as per the model we defined yesterday, these two are elementary particles residing in separate, distinct dimensions, which we called D-one and D-two." Pearl drew a squiggly line between the two particles, labeling each side of the dimensional divide accordingly. "Yesterday I defined the interaction between P-one and P-two in rather casual terms. I hope the lack of detail didn't make it too confusing?"

_Sure. The lack of detail. That's probably why._

"It may have contributed to my puzzlement."

"Well then, good news! Today, we get our first taste of something calculable." Pearl scrawled the variables T1 and T2 on the board, finishing each one with a happy little flourish. "The physical property that corresponds to the capacity for a particle to take part in transdimensional interaction is called _transience_."

"Isn't that already, you know... a word?"

"Oh, well, of course it is. But so were derivative, integral, and charge before they were assigned formal definitions in mathematics and physics." Pearl flashed a self-satisfied smile, to which Alan could only nod in agreement.

_Well... can't really be upset when she's right. Can I? I suppose I can. But I'm not._

"Call T-one and T-two the transience of particle one and particle two, respectively. Transience is actually a complex, non-linear combination of several variables, but for now we shall treat it as a single, real number." Alan hurriedly copied Pearl's chalkboard in pencil form in his notebook, surrounding the new quantities with a couple of messy notes.

_This is... this might be something I can latch on to. Assuming I can actually understand it._

"Additionally, in this simplification, we shall consider _only_ the effect from _one_ dimension to _one_ other dimension. And that both dimensions have rules for fundamental interaction which are functionally equivalent."

"Meaning...?"

"_Meaning_ if I, say, toss an egg in D-one, it shall act exactly as it would have had I tossed the egg in D-two under the same conditions."

_Eggs again? No Pearl, nooo..._

"Alright. Now, if the transience of P-one is a positive, non-zero value, then, for P-one to exert a transdimensional effect on P-two, the transience of P-two must _also_ be a positive, non-zero value."

"So, negative transience suggests some sort of resistance to transdimensional interaction?"

"Not necessarily," Pearl corrected, tapping the board with her chalk. "Rather, a particle with _negative _transience requires _another_ particle with negative transience for the two to exhibit any transdimensional effect on each other." Alan dutifully jot down several points from Pearl's explanation. Noticing that Pearl was waiting for him to finish, he wrapped up his scribbling with a long, slow, affirmative nod. One that, to Pearl's slight dismay, steadily transformed into a confused head shake.

"How does transience model the phenomenon that- well, there are nearly infinite particles in each dimension. How do two particles 'know' to affect each other?"

It... _does_ model that," Pearl began slowly. "It's one of the non-linear combinations I mentioned earlier, which we'll get to. Later. Perhaps much later. For now, just assume that P-one and P-two do affect each other and _only_ each other."

"So what does this effect actually do? Move the particles around or normalize their spin or-"

"That is _also_ modeled in one of the non-linear combinations," Pearl interrupted, scribbling a bit underneath T1 in an attempt to make it look more complex. "Not that it terribly _matters_, since when we're treating transience as nothing more than a real number, but... sure. Let's say that this _particular_ transdimensional interaction operates on, um..."

A gust blew in from the ocean, kicking up a small cloud of sand that rolled, low to the ground, between Pearl and her apprentice. Alan watched Pearl stare, intently, at a single grain of sand, following its motion with the precision and exactness of a thinking mind.

"On motion! Yes, on the displacement, velocity, and acceleration of each particle. This is a _very_ demonstrable instance of transdimensional effect." With no small amount of enthusiasm, Pearl pulled out a pair of plastic spheres, placing them on the sand in front of her and tracing a squiggly line between them with one finger. "Now then, let's move on to the most fun part. Example calculations!"

_Well, I _do_ like calculations. It's a lot more actionable that flailing around here all day not understanding anything._ Alan nodded his head just as enthusiastically, priming his pencil and notebook for what was sure to be a generous expenditure of graphite.

* * *

"It's okay, we'll just go over this _one_ more time."

Alan held his head in one hand, gawking at Pearl's claim. _It's _okay_? All I've done this entire long morning is- is, well... fail!_

Alan took a forlorn look at the board. His familiar particles, P1 and P2, were still there. But they were bastions of sense amidst a maelstrom of chalky complexity. Alan had stopped trying to copy the endless tendrils of vector arrows emerging from each particle and going in every direction imaginable, including into and out of the board. Nor was he jotting down the dictionary of new terms and variables that Pearl had thought necessary to define in the now-cramped corners of the board. _Nor_ was he drawing every graph, diagram, and confusing collection of shapes that allegedly held meaning. Instead, he was staring blankly at P1 and P2, trying to recapture the fleeting sense of understanding and enthusiasm he had felt when the morning began.

"Say P-one is moving towards me." Pearl grabbed one of the plastic spheres, pulling it towards her and forming a small groove in the sand. "Now, given the dimensional transference matrix on the board, in which direction will P-two move?"

Alan's eyes darted back and forth across the board. Seeing his confusion, Pearl tapped her chalk underneath a large matrix dominating the better part of half of the board. The physicist squinted at the mathematical structure, as though straining his eyes would clarify the myriad of strange symbols and quantities.

_In times like these, an educated guess is my best chance. How many directions could there be? Four? Eight? That's a one-in-eighth chance of getting this right._

"Towards me and to the right?"

"Y-eah..." Pearl bit her bottom lip, looking off into the clear, blue sky for motivation to continue. "Except that's... not what it would do, and you're wrong. It would actually swoop gradually towards me, and to the right, at a forty-five degree angle. _Then_ curve upwards." Pearl grabbed the other plastic sphere and pulled it through her prescribed trajectory, holding it over her head at its terminal position. "Do you understand?"

It was a question that made Alan's heart sink. Not because she had to ask, but because the answer was a very definite no.

"Is there... something that I can clarify?" Pearl looked worried. Whether for the futility of their efforts or for the dismay written on her apprentice's face, Alan didn't know.

"No, I think-"

_What do I think? That if I stare at it long enough an understanding will spontaneously appear?_

"-I think I just need some time with it. The math and all that."

"Oh. Okay. Well then, your shift starts at ten and it is nine fifty-five, so... I shall see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah." Alan stood and brushed the sand off his jacket, nodding slowly. "Yeah, I-... yeah. Tomorrow."

Alan departed with a defeated shuffle, which picked up into a concerned trot when he remembered the time. He looked back just once, overtaken by lingering curiosity.

_Just what does she think of me now?_

Pearl was leaving with her own pensive step, brow lowered and sporting a vacant thinking face. And it answered his question succinctly.

_She doesn't know what to think._

* * *

Alan moved his arms. Plain. Mechanical.

_Small clockwise. Large counterclockwise. Small clockwise. Shift position._

As hesitant as Alan was to admit it, washing cars was a good job. Not a _good_ good job; certainly he wouldn't be writing home about his prestigious position as the only employee at a local car-wash in a small town- not counting its owner. And it's not like it was good for the world, either. Not _bad_ for the world, but nothing a passerby would laud as a selfless, essential task were they to pass by Alan at work. But it was good for him. Calming. Like a soothing balm of simplicity; a meditatively direct task that he knew he could perform.

_And, unlike Pearl's lessons, washing cars isn't an enormous mental labor._

Still, as much as Alan enjoyed operating on conscious autopilot, his previous worries nagged at him. It showed in his belabored motions. It showed in his downcast eyes. And it showed to Greg, who pulled into the car-wash at noon to the sight of his only employee washing a car door as glumly as one could wash a car door. The genial man gave Alan a wave as his van coasted past him to its usual spot. When that was ignored, Greg hopped out and waved from the other side of the car Alan was washing. And when _that_ was ignored, he waved his hands right in front of Alan's face, causing his employee to toss his sponge into the air in surprise. The cleaning implement soared through the air, ending its parabolic arc with a clean 'plop!' in a nearby bucket. Alan and Greg nodded their heads at the spectacle.

"Nice." Greg said, congratulating both Alan and the universe for arranging such an unlikely sponge throw. "But, uh, kid? Somethin' wrong? You're lookin' downer than a quilt full-a duck feathers."

Alan couldn't stop the snort of laughter that constituted his reflexive reaction to Greg's joke. _Downer than a quilt full of- pfft! What's that supposed to even mean?_

Greg flashed a smile, glad that he had chipped a small way through. "Seriously though, you've washed that door at _least_ twice as much as it needs."

"Naw, he's doin' a fine job, Mr. U!"

Alan glanced up at the contributing voice. One of the Pizza girls- though he couldn't name which one- was relaxing in the driver's seat with her legs on the dashboard, sunglasses down and arms cradling her head. Looking with more than a modicum of attention at the door he had scrubbed to a shine, Alan noticed that he was, in fact, washing the Fish Stew Pizza delivery car.

"Uh, Jenny," Greg began, tapping the side of the car with one finger, "shouldn't you be makin' deliveries?"

"Well, I _guess_ I should. But he just kept washin' the car, and I figured, ya know, as long as he kept doin' it I shouldn't interrupt him."

Greg coughed to himself, unwilling, and unsure of how, to continue his line of questioning. Finally, Jenny sighed, taking her feet off the dash. "Fine, you win Mr. U. I already paid inside so you don't hafta worry 'bout that. Thanks for the wash, um..."

"Alan," Greg answered for his preoccupied employee, who was currently tilting his head and staring at the door of the car in puzzlement.

_Has this fish-pizza-intersect graphic always been here?_

"Yeah, thanks for the wash, Alan!" Jenny started the car, which finally snapped Alan out of his car door fixation and prompted him to step back. He waved half-heartedly at his customer, then turned back towards Greg.

"Have you ever been unable to do something you thought you knew well? Something you've done for so long that you can't imagine _not_ being able to do it? Wait, 'unable' is the wrong word. It's more... insufficiently performing, I suppose. At something that, um... yeah."

"You askin' if I ever failed? Well, of course I have! It's not like every song's a show-stopper. Or even, you know, a mild show interrupter. But that doesn't stop you, ya know? If it's somethin' you know you wanna do and you do it all the time, then you do the thing, it goes well or it doesn't, and the next day you keep doin' the thing." Greg placed his hands on his hips and grinned with certainty. "'cuz sometimes it _is_ a show stopper!"

_It goes well or it doesn't? I suppose that _does_ accurately describe the range of possible outcome, but-_

"Oh, _I_ got ya figured," Greg said, snapping in realization. "This is a _singin'_ thing, isn't it?"

_A singing-? Oh. Oh, no, it's not a-_

"Yeah, it's _totally_ a singin' thing!" Greg said enthusiastically. "C'mon, I'll show ya."

"Show me what, mist- um, Greg?"

Greg snatched a guitar out of his van, turning to Alan with an expression that spoke nothing but confidence. "Show you that you still _got_ it, of course!" Greg took a familiar stance; feet spaced evenly, guitar hanging low, and neck aligned straight with his back. Seeing Greg get ready, Alan instinctively initiated his own physical preparations. His body went through the motions of assuming a correct singing posture; abdomen firm and expandable, chest high but relaxed, and knees flexibly loose.

_I remember? I guess I- no, this doesn't prove-_

Greg interrupted his thoughts with a loud strum. A single, ringing chord, gratefully relinquished by the instrument in his hands. A chord Alan couldn't exactly place. Then, Greg continued to the intro. Three quick notes in succession, ending in a trill. An unmistakable musical signature. Finally, the realization of what Greg was doing hit Alan. His eyes widened.

_I-I can't sing this! Especially not- not after all this time, and I've only heard it once, and-_

"C'mon man, you know the words," Greg urged, seeing Alan's hesitation. He entered the first chord progression, looking at the young physicist with an encouraging grin. But Alan's was standing stock-still, too busy internally grappling with the situation to notice. "Well alright, but these chords're gonna keep loopin' 'till they're happy, and they won't be happy 'till the vocals come around to keep 'em company!"

Alan couldn't resist a smirk. _How can he be so _hokey_ all the time? _But it worked. Alan felt relaxed, like it didn't matter what he actually sang. So long as he sang. Alan took a deep, calming breath. When he heard the progression loop back to the start, he sucked in a quick breath, tensed his abdomen, and sang.

_I know I'm not that smart-_

"The first one's 'tall!'" Greg corrected laughingly. Alan smiled and revised his verse with a quick in-tone correction.

-_I-mean-tall_

Greg gave him a thumbs up before rushing his hand back to his guitar.

_ I know I'm not that smart_

_ But let me drive my van into your heart_

_ Let me drive my van into your heart_

Alan filled the small musical gap between verses with a laugh. "I-I don't have your baritone, Greg!"

Greg joined him with a chuckle. "Sing it up an octave!"

_I know I'm not that rich-_

_ -because-I-work-in-a-car-wash_

Alan snuck the last line in to a small series of whooping laughs from Greg.

_I'm trying to get my start_

_ So let me drive my van into your heart_

_ Let me drive my van into your heart_

As Greg plunged into the bridge, Alan could feel himself getting pulled in with him. Greg's strumming grew more involved- more excited and happy. And Alan's could feel the lyrics sitting at the back of his throat, eager for the moment when his diaphragm would push a gust of air from his lungs past his vocal chords, vibrating them in a series of frequencies that would carry each words out into the world in a way that no conversational tone could ever manage.

_And if we look out of place_

Alan coughed through a small snort of laughter, his voice straining in its upper register. "Greg, it's- haha, it's too high!"

"Then quit singin' it up the octave!" Greg replied, smile growing wide and prominent across his face. Alan nodded and jumped back into the song.

_Well, baby, that's okay_

_ I'll drive us into outer space_

_ Where we can't hear what people say_

Greg played through the end of the bridge energetically, ramping up his musical contribution until the last, hanging note. Alan could feel his voice follow him, stretching the word 'say' into a dipping and rolling tone that grew as loud as Greg's guitar and stopped as abruptly as Greg did. They both let the last rings of Greg's guitar, and the last echoes of Alan's voice, diffuse into the air for a moment, reveling in the acoustic imprint their last notes had left. Then, they both fell back into the last verse.

_I know I don't have a plan_

_ I'm working on that part_

_ At least I've got a van_

_ So let me drive my van into your heart_

"Bring it home, kid!"

Alan nodded enthusiastically, grinning to himself. And to Greg. And to the song they were about to bring to an end.

_Let me drive my van into your heart!_

Greg started flailing his long head of hair back and forth, a hypnotic rotation which Alan had to watch. He started moving as well- bobbing with the beat, swinging with the rhythm, and moving his feet wherever they felt compelled.

_Let me drive my van into your heart_

Alan felt something touch his back- a _lot_ of something. With mild surprise, he found that he was back-to-back with Greg. They both threw a reflexive look back, and, upon seeing each other's surprised expressions, they both broke out into huge, collaborative grins.

_Let me drive my van into your heart!_

Greg shut his eyes tight, entering the final round of strumming with as much fuss and enthusiasm as when he began. Alan took a deep breath, readying himself for the last notes he would get to enjoy in their performance.

_Let me drive my van into your heart_

Alan held his last note out, savoring it for as long as it was tasteful to do so. Greg joined him, strumming a rapid tremolo on his last chord to carry its energy through. When he heard Alan's voice quaver with note-stretching vibrato and finally stop, Greg ended the song with one last, strong chord. Both performers slumped to the ground, still back-to-back with each other. They let the song's terminal notes swirl about for a moment, ringing in their ears and bouncing off some far-off, echoing terrain until it finally took its leave. Then, they grinned. A grin that took life as a mutual giggle. A giggle that rolled into an earnest chuckle. Then, finally, Alan and Greg laughed. Open-mouthed, unabashed, and gleeful. Alan jumped to his feet to face Greg, who tipped backwards precariously before catching himself and standing to face Alan.

"See, man? I told you ya still-"

"Greg, that was _great_! It was all so- so _simple_! They were just words, and- and I just gave them notes and I breathed them out and- haha! It was-... ahem. Yes. That was fun, Greg. Thank you."

"Hey man, you got it. I mean you, um, _still_ got it. It's like I said, ya know? Somethin' you liked for that long- it's not somethin' you lose."

_It's not. You're right, Greg- it's not. It's not!_

Still smiling, Alan all but ran for the main office.

"H-hey, kid, what's the matter?"

"Nothing's 'the matter!'" Alan yelled back, "I just- I just realized something and-"

_Oh, it's no use explaining. I just need my notebook!_

Alan barged through the office door and bounded for his closet. Barging through _that_ door, he grabbed his notebook and pencil and brought them outside. He held the pages up to the light, trying to splash as much illumination as he could onto the scrawled notes within.

_How long have I spent staring at equations? At laws and proofs and the mathematical basis behind the very _fabric_ of reality? How long have I been working with particles and forces and arcane computations that model the workings of our universe?_

Alan smiled. He spotted it- the form of single-particle to single-particle transdimensional interaction was similar to that of the electromagnetic interaction between two charged particles, and to that of gravitational interaction between two masses. It was surrounded by foreign symbols and unfamiliar notation and confusing mathematics, but it was there.

_This is a force. A complex, composite, confusing, and unbelievable force. But it's a force._

He flipped to the large matrix of symbols he had copied off of Pearl's board earlier, eyes zipping between elements in a familiar pattern.

_And these are the rules. They're in separate dimensions, of _course_ it wouldn't be simple! Of- of course _none_ of this would be simple! But..._

Alan flipped back to the start of the notebook, determined to journey through the past two days of notes with a new eye.

_But it never is. It wasn't when I learned electromagnetism. It wasn't when I learned quantum mechanics. It's never simple, but I like doing it._

Alan nodded to himself and plopped down in a lawn-chair, slouching forwards and grasping his pencil eagerly.

_It's never simple. But it's not something you lose._

* * *

Alan found Pearl at their usual spot, pacing back and forth and twiddling her thumbs worriedly. When she caught sight of him, Pearl stood straight as a board and waved stiffly.

"O-oh, Alan! You're here. Which shouldn't be a surprise, given that we- um, that we agreed to meet here. Every morning. Yes... hello. Alan." Alan raised a brow. It was the start of another morning lesson, but rather than the feeling of dismal confusion he had felt the previous day, Alan was eager. Excited, even. He clutched his notebook in one hand, thumb idly brushing the pages he had poured over the day before. Alan had spent every moment _not_ washing cars on reviewing his notes; every theorem, every equation, every variable, and every calculation. He hadn't understood them all, not even a bit. But he had a grasp on the material- a small, firm grasp. And he was determined to never let it go.

"Good morning, Pearl. How-... Pearl?"

Pearl looked up. She had begun pacing and twiddling her thumbs again, and regarded him with the same thinking gaze he had last seen her brandish the day before. "Alan. Please, take a seat." Pearl gestured to a pair of seat cushions laying snugly in the sand, perfectly covering the shallow depressions where the two usually sat.

_Ooo, __proper seating. What a delight!_

He plopped down on the comfortable spot. Pearl folded her legs gracefully underneath her. "Now, Alan. I've been thinking, and I realize that yesterday may have been... discouraging. But I want you to know that you _can_ do this. We just have to take another look at-"

Alan held a hand up, stopping a surprised Pearl in the midst of her well-rehearsed speech. Then, he gestured at one of the plastic spheres still sitting in the sand. Pearl touched the sphere lightly, looking up at him with a questioning expression. Alan nodded, and, with a small sigh, Pearl moved the sphere.

_Directly to the right, slightly up. Given the dimensional transference matrix from yesterday, the other particle should..._

Alan put his hand on the second sphere, pulling it towards him- then, looping it to the left and pushing it into the sand. Pearl's eyes widened slightly. They both set their particles back to rest position, and Pearl moved hers again.

_Towards me, down slightly, and looping to the right. Alright. That means..._

Alan pushed his sphere to the left Pearl, looping it upwards before performing another looping maneuver towards Pearl. "Y-yes. Yes, Alan, that is correct!" With a slight tremble of excitement, Pearl prescribed another trajectory; straight up, then looping towards Pearl and jolting to the right at the last moment. Alan grabbed his own sphere and brought it to the left, looping it towards Pearl and back around towards him.

"The jolt at the end would actually bring it _down_ for _another_ loop," Pearl corrected, "but other than that, that was correct!"

"O-oh, it would? I- haha, I guess I forgot about affects from change in acceleration."

_That pesky fourth derivative always got me when I was learning conventional physics, too._

With a wide grin on her face, Pearl took her particle and swung it in an elaborate pattern through the sand, pushing it down and popping it back up into her hand at the end. She looked up at Alan with gleeful anticipation.

_I... that's..._

Alan sighed and dropped his particle. Not a sad sigh; it didn't speak of defeat or exasperation or sorrow. It was a sigh coaxed from the knowledge that he had a lot of work ahead of him. Good work. Work he could pursue earnestly and immerse himself in. "I think I need to learn more before I can, um... decode something like that."

"Oh," Pearl said, dropping her own particle with a sheepish little laugh. "Right, I shouldn't have-... right. Right! B-but, but yesterday you- a-and today you-! Well, you _understood_ it! I thought for a good while that you were going to, I don't know, give _up_!"

Alan grinned. _Give up? No, certainly not. But fail? Insufficiently perform? Those I can do. Because this is what I like. And one day-_

Alan flipped his notebook open, readying his pencil. Pearl nodded and turned towards the chalkboard, drawing P1 and P2 in their familiar spots.

_-__one day, __I'll have a show-stopper._


End file.
